


we walk the path of fallen angels, we meet on the backs of flying fish

by hoye



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Selkie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoye/pseuds/hoye
Summary: Ed is too old to believe in fairy tales. But there’s no other way to describe the creature in front of him.It’s a mermaid.There’s a fuckingmermaidon his little, no-name, nothing-to-see island.(Ed lives on an island as a lighthouse keeper and Roy is a mermaid of sorts.)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 56
Kudos: 205





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> technically, this is a "slow burn"
> 
> there is no alchemy in this fic

Ed grows up on the island with a younger brother crafted from literal sunshine and a mother he suspects is actually a god in disguise, because she’s perfect in every way that an unearthly being should be.

Trisha Elric knows everything, from how to tell time by measuring shadows on a sunny day, to how to catch and skin a fish, to how to mend a pair of pants with holes in the knees. She knows the names of all the plants on the island and of all the sea creatures Ed and Al point out to her excitedly.

She is the keeper of the ramshackle-yet-somehow-functioning lighthouse that the three of them call home. This requires strength and wit that many assume she isn’t capable of, because Trisha stands at a misleading 152 centimeters.

She is their sole parental figure and the only adult on the little island, seventy kilometers from the Amestrian coast. Ed and Al grow up without memories of a father and they are content without one, because they have her and she is all they need. 

(They only ever ask about their father once, when Ed is five, and Al is four. Mom smiles like she is about to cry and they never mention the topic again.)

She has a laugh like the bray of a donkey, loud and abrasive and apparently “unlady-like”, but it is somehow, impossibly, the most pleasant sound Ed and Al have ever heard in their lives.

She was a force of nature. 

“Was” being the key word. 

Mom dies from an unknown illness when Ed is seven years old. The doctor claims there is nothing wrong with her, that she simply needs rest and fluids, but it isn’t enough. She grows weaker and weaker, until one day, she is only a shade of the person she used to be, robbed of her ability to be a person at all.

On her deathbed, she tries to smile at her children as they sob into her hands.

“It’s alright, Ed, Al. I’ll be alright.” Her voice comes out like it’s rattling around inside of her, as if the things that make Mom _Mom_ had disappeared, leaving her bereft of whatever normally burned in her. “Be good for me, won’t you, boys?”

“Always,” Al promises through his tears.

She presses a hand to Ed’s face, lifting it so that she could see him. 

“Edward,” she rasps. “Alphonse.”

They both lean in, sniffling and wiping their noses with the backs of their hands.

She laughs one last time, the sound exactly as they would later reminisce about longingly for years to come, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You boys mean the world to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading my story! :o)
> 
> i had the idea of a lighthouse keeper/mermaid au, but then also got caught up in my love of the myth of selkies/swan maidens, which is how i got here. 
> 
> i wrote this frantically leading up to february 29, because it matched up well to the idea i had in mind, but this story (like everything i write apparently) grew too long and i couldn't finish it in time. (this was actually meant to be a oneshot for february 29, but it grew disgustingly long, like 13k words when i was 2/3 finished, which is why i split it up into chapters, and it's also why the chapters are relatively short.)
> 
> i actually have posted the first three chapters on march 2, but edited the dates on the first two chapters :O i hope no one minds. i'll be posting one chapter a day until the "oneshot" is over!
> 
> (also if you want to watch an animated movie related to selkies, please watch song of the sea!)


	2. two.

They bury their mother in Resembool, the nearby coastal village. She is laid to rest in the little cemetery behind the ancient stone church they had sometimes gone to on Christmas day.

Her headstone bears her name, her date of birth and death, and nothing else.

“You sure you don’t want no ‘lovin’ mother’ or nothin’ else?” the mason asks. “Free o’ charge,” she adds. Everyone in Resembool knows about the Elric family, knows that with the unfortunate passing of the mother, the boys have no one else to turn to.

Ed shakes his head. “We know she’s our mom. That’s not all she was, though.”

Al nods in agreement. 

Ed doesn’t cry at the funeral, but his face is contorted for the entirety of the service. 

Al cries, but tries to pretend he didn’t.

When the funeral ends, the villagers are faced with a dilemma.

“They can’t just live on that island alone! They’re _children_!” one of the village grandmothers exclaims.

“They’re too young,” someone agrees.

“Who can take them in, though,” someone else wonders aloud.

“We can take care of ourselves,” Ed interrupts, his eyebrows scrunched together in anger.

Al steps forward; he’d always been better at getting along with other people. “We wouldn’t want to impose on anyone here in the village,” he says politely. The locals coo over his “sophisticated language” and his impeccable manners.

“Wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“We’d love to have you!”

“Don’t worry your little head about that, that’s for the grown ups to think about!”

In the end, Ed puts his foot down: he and Al would be returning to their home, to their lighthouse, to their little island, whether the villagers liked it or not. Even when he is seven years old, no one wants to argue with Edward Elric and his unreasonable temper.

Ed and Al take the ferry back to their empty home.

They teach themselves how to care for the lighthouse and begin teaching themselves to do everything Mom used to do, with the aid of books they find scattered about the lighthouse and the many others they request from the (often confused) captain of the only ferry that comes by. They study a wide variety of subjects with an unmitigated dedication and are soon capable of inventing their own machines to increase their productivity.

Mom isn’t around anymore, but they hang up their only photo of her in the living room, above the mantle, flanked on either side by a book of children’s stories she had read to them growing up and a candle that smells like lavender.

Life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! :o)


	3. three.

Ed’s been living on the island alone since Al received the chance to attend a boarding school on the mainland. 

They receive an assortment of visitors over the years, mostly from Granny Pinako and her granddaughter, Winry Rockbell, who they had known from when Mom was still alive.

It’s Granny who suggests they try applying for school, when she discovers the products of their ingenuity and curiosity.

“You boys have real talent,” she says, entranced by the small windmills Ed and Al had scattered about the island to generate more electricity. “You shouldn’t waste it here.”

Ed adamantly refuses to apply, declaring he would never willingly leave his home. Al says something similar, but Ed can tell from the overly-cheery way Al grins and nods that he wants to do it, he just won’t admit it to Ed.

A week later, after another brief visit from Granny and Winry, Ed fills in the application she leaves behind for them: ALPHONSE ELRIC, he scrawls on the top. He sends it out the very next morning, with Al none the wiser.

Until his acceptance arrives. 

“I’m staying!” he insists. “I can’t just leave you here all by yourself, Brother!”

Ed scoffs. “There’s a whole world out there, Al. There’s no reason for both of us to stay when I’m perfectly capable of managing the lighthouse on my own.”

“You’re only 10,” Al points out, crossing his arms.

“And _you’re_ only 9,” Ed retorts. “You’re going, Al. Even if I have to tie you up and dump your ass on the ferry.”

Al stomps off and Ed lets him, because he knows that Al will see reason and leave, even if he isn’t happy about it right now.

Ed thinks Al is meant for bigger and better things than the little nameless island they’ve grown up on. 

Al is bright in so many ways that Ed is not.

Al deserves to escape this island to which Ed has condemned them.

Two months later, he does exactly that, with encouragement and support from Ed, Granny, Winry, and the rest of Resembool. He’s their pride and joy.

(Alone on the catwalk of the lighthouse, with his legs dangling off the edge, Ed cries for the first time since Mom died.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know it's weird to think they're literal children running a lighthouse but honestly in the manga they do a bunch of wild crap at a young age so i thought it was alright
> 
> thanks for reading!


	4. four.

The lighthouse is painted an off-white and is chipping from years of wear and tear. The metal of the roof and railing used to be a pale turquoise, but has long since been covered with rust. Ed doesn’t bother maintaining its appearance because he can’t bring himself to care; as long as everything works as it should, the lighthouse is in perfect shape as far as he’s concerned. 

It is on the smaller side, especially in comparison to the lighthouses on the coast of Amestris, and the people in Resembool used to joke that it was a "little lighthouse fit for a little kid". (They still do, just not to Ed's face, since the one time a fisherman had said it in his presence, Ed had yelled at him with a storm-like fury.)

Ed’s island doesn't have a name, even though it's technically the first decent chunk of land that any ships hoping to find Amestris will run into (often literally). It’s out so far from the coast in order to warn ships of the jagged boulders that jut out like crooked teeth between the island and the rest of the country.

The mainland is an hour and a half away with a fast boat, and three hours away by the dinky little ferry that delivers provisions and mail, which is why Ed rarely gets visitors anymore, including from his own brother. Usually, Ed is the one to make the journey to Resembool, not the other way around.

He does, however, get an almost concerning number of letters from Al, pretty much one for each day of the week, dated to show exactly when Al had thought of him and written. They’re handed off to Ed in thick bundles each Wednesday when the ferry comes by. 

(Ed appreciates the thoughtfulness of his younger brother and has wallpapered the peeling walls of his bedroom with them. He pins his favorite drawings and stories to the ceiling, so that they are the last thing he sees before he falls asleep.)

His own letters to Al are full of random thoughts and rants about whatever Ed's read that week, about life on the island, and occasionally, about his visits from Winry. Every few months or so, she will make the journey to the island in order to check in on him and also nag him to visit her and Granny, who is getting too old to comfortably travel to the island and back.

He cleans, he cooks, he reads. He fixes the machinery when it breaks. He celebrates his birthday in secret.

Ed exists on the island alone, but he _swears_ he's not lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading!


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed meets Roy under the light of a pale blue moon.

The night Ed meets Roy Mustang, he’s eleven years old and he’s sitting on the rocky shores in the western part of the island with a thermos full of scalding hot tea, a book, and a thick blanket. 

Al had gifted him the book on his birthday a few months prior, in an effort to mitigate the loneliness that Ed unsuccessfully hid from him: it’s about constellations and the types of celestial bodies he might find in the night sky. He finds comfort in the distant stars that dot the sky each night, especially as he wants for company most days. (It’s been over a year since Al left for school and in his absence, Ed has established a daily routine that maximizes both efficiency and loneliness). 

The ocean beats ceaselessly against the stones two meters from where Ed sits. This part of the island is on the opposite end of the rickety dock where incoming boats make their stop. Here, boulders of various sizes are strewn about the beach, causing the waves to crash and spray Ed with a fine mist of salt water. He surveys the horizon presented in front of him, attempting to trace the line where the sky meets the sea in the distance. The sea is as wild as ever, the normally blue waters pitch-black in the absence of sunlight. There’s a man near the rocks to Ed's left, basking in the glowing light of the full moon hanging above them.

Wait, what?

There’s a _man_ in the _water_.

“What the fuck? Aren’t you freezing?”

The man, who is leaning against one of the many boulders along the shoreline, turns at the sound of Ed’s voice to face him with suspicious eyes. Upon spotting Ed’s huddled figure on the sand, he smiles politely.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you for asking.”

Ed’s eyes wander downward and he can feel all the blood rush to his face.

“You’re _shirtless_ ,” he replies. He forces himself to look the man in the eye, otherwise he might just die of embarrassment.

“That I am,” the man agrees amicably, smugly. “Thought I might enjoy a midnight swim.”

“In the middle of winter?” Ed asks skeptically.

“In the middle of winter,” he confirms.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ed is bemused by the appearance of the semi-naked (possibly fully-naked) man casually lounging about in freezing ocean water, and rightfully so.

“I’m Roy Mustang,” the man offers. “And you?”

“That’s your real name,” Ed says, dubious.

“Yes. What’s yours?”

“I’m Ed.”

“It's very nice to meet you, Edward.”

“It’s just Ed.”

Roy gives him an amused look. “I heard you the first time, _Edward._ ”

Ed scowls.

Roy stays in the water, the waves crashing relentlessly against the beach and causing him to rise and fall with the movement of the tide. He’s completely drenched, his hair hanging in his eyes. He pushes back the wet strands, so that his face is fully exposed to the moonlight. 

His eyes are dark and intelligent, his skin smooth and so much of it exposed for all to see (for Ed to see). He’s muscular, with broad shoulders and sturdy arms. Roy looks preternaturally beautiful in the darkness, with his slightly too-long hair and the way he appears to glimmer in the light. He has what looks like several gold piercings decorating his ears and there’s a string of pearls wrapped tightly around his neck three times, seated just below the man’s Adam’s apple.

Ed looks away, flustered by his interest.

“Did you _swim_ all the way out here?” His nose scrunches in disgust.

Roy laughs aloud.

_Oh_.

The sound of his laughter is rich and deep, like the old church bells at the little chapel where Mom’s buried. Ed can hear the laugh long after Roy stops; he thinks he will remember it for the rest of his life.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Roy answers. 

Ed frowns at that. “From Resembool? Hell, that’s seventy kilometers.”

“I’m aware,” Roy says. “I’m an avid swimmer.”

“Avid my ass,” Ed mutters. He calls out. “You’re not some kind of pervert, are you?”

Roy laughs again and Ed’s face heats up against the chill of the ocean breeze.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're just hanging out here, in the middle of the night, you know..." Ed gestures towards Roy's body, unwilling to explicitly call out the man's nudity.

The man in question grins devilishly at the boy's sense of propriety. “Shy little thing, aren’t you?”

Ed jumps up at the awful word, his face no longer flushed from embarrassment, but now red with anger. 

“I am _not_ little! My height is _average_ for someone my fucking age. Fucking watch yourself, _bastard_!”

Roy’s smiling and this time, his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes all the difference.

“Duly noted,” he says.

“It better be,” Ed says grouchily. He settles back down on the sand and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Looking at Roy makes Ed feel ten times colder than he already does. “Seriously, aren’t you freezing? Are you homeless?"

"Not homeless," Roy says, still smiling. 

"Do you want to come in?” Ed blurts out.

_Shit._ Ed’s considering slapping himself for the lapse in judgment. Why on Earth did he just invite a complete stranger into his home, particularly a stranger as odd as this one. 

_Am I this desperate for company?_

Roy looks at Ed, who’s too busy berating himself to notice the way the man observes him. His expression morphs into something forlorn and wary and his shoulders hunch together. He continues to watch Ed for a minute longer.

Finally, he responds. “If it’s not too much trouble, I wouldn’t mind it.”

Ed’s throat is dry. “Great,” he says hollowly. He gets up and collects his things. “Let’s go then.”

He wants to see if Roy Mustang is wearing pants at all, but he thinks it’ll be too awkward to watch him exit the water. So, Ed turns away from the ocean to give Roy some semblance of privacy and trudges back to the lighthouse, debating whether or not the man has enough common sense to not enter another person’s house completely naked. It's a relatively short walk from the beach back to the lighthouse, but Ed goes slowly, picking his way out in the darkness. He strains, listening for signs that the man is following, but can't hear anything over the roar of the ocean.

Once he’s opened the door, he turns back to see if Roy is there and nearly runs into the man's bare chest. 

_At least he’s wearing pants_ , Ed thinks as he stumbles backwards. 

Roy is tall, with legs so long that it makes Ed jealous. 

On a closer look, he’s actually wearing more than Ed had anticipated; he’s wrapped himself into a luxurious coat (still no shirt) and is donning a pair of black trousers that are dripping wet (and who the fuck swims with trousers on?). His feet are bare.

But the coat is dry.

_That’s weird as shit._ “Where’d you get the coat?”

It’s eye-catching and unlike anything Ed has ever seen in his admittedly short life. The shape of the coat is nothing special, but the material can't possibly be manmade. It's as if the cloth were composed of shimmering black scales, that catch the light in unnatural ways. Ed wants to say they remind him of those tropical fish they sell sometimes as pets at the market, but he's never seen the scales of those fish shift and change color the way these do.

Roy shrugs. Ed wants to badger him about it, but he can already tell he won’t get anywhere by doing so. He eyes him once more. Roy is creating his own little ocean on the floor as the water in his soaked pants and hair trickle down.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any other clothes on you,” he says sarcastically. 

“You’d be correct,” Roy smiles and it's utterly sinful. "I could always remove them, if you'd prefer."

Ed feels like he's never blushed so much in his life. "That's unnecessary."

“Well, I don’t suppose you’d have anything I could borrow, given your…,” he trails off, eyeing Ed from head to toe, and Ed clenches his teeth, understanding the implication. 

“Wait here,” he grits out. 

He stomps his way over to the storage closet, where he knows Mom hid a trunk of his father’s things. Digging through said trunk, Ed grabs a loose long-sleeve shirt and some pants and tosses it to Roy. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Bathroom’s over there,” Ed responds with a jerk of his thumb. “I’ll make some tea.”

Roy wanders into the bathroom and Ed sets the kettle on the stove. He hasn’t entertained guests in a long time; Winry and Granny don’t count anymore, they’re basically family, but even they don’t have enough time to come by as often as they had when he and Al were younger. His manners are absolutely reprehensible, but it hasn't scared the man off yet, so Ed figures he'll get by.

When Roy is dressed and seated at the wooden table in the kitchen, Ed sets a chipped ceramic mug in front of him. Roy thanks him again before sipping the tea. "It's good," he says, a small smile, a _real_ smile, on his lips. 

They sit at the table drinking tea like old friends, when in reality, Ed is scrambling for something to say.

Ed settles on: “So. Never seen you before.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t have,” Roy answers. He cups the mug with both hands. “I’m not from Resembool, but I do live in the area.”

Okay, that makes sense. Ed doesn’t socialize in Resembool, let alone the neighboring towns. (Ed doesn't socialize at all.)

“I see.”

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room seems aggressively loud as silence stretches between the two.

“I’ve heard about you though," Roy mentions.

“Well, that _definitely_ doesn’t make me regret inviting you in.”

“Everyone’s heard about you. The boy who runs the lighthouse," Roy says, matter-of-fact.

“I’m not really a boy. Not really an adult either.” Ed hasn't thought of himself as a kid since Mom died and he had assumed responsibility for everything. Kids should be able to have fun without worrying, while adults take care of everything for them and Ed might not have the years to back him up, but he's hardly living a worry-free life.

The older man follows his movements as he brings his own cup of tea to the table and sits opposite him.

Roy smirks and the arrogance of the expression suits him perfectly. “If the attitude is any indication, I would have to say ‘boy’ is quite accurate.”

“Bastard, if you don’t want to get kicked out of my fucking house, you’d better shut the fuck up.”

“And I thought sailors were the only ones who used such foul language,” Roy chides.

Ed lifts his middle finger and shows Roy exactly what he thinks about his reprimand.

He gives Ed a look, unimpressed.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Eleven.”

“And you live here alone?”

“You know, I’m starting to think you actually are a pervert.”

There's a short bark of laughter at that.

“Not a pervert, Edward, just making conversation.”

He doesn’t respond and Roy doesn’t speak again either. The only sounds disturbing the silence that envelops them is the distant roar of waves and the ticking of the clock.

“Do you always swim in the ocean?” Ed tries to start the conversation again.

“Yes, I do it quite often. Does it concern you that much?”

Ed scowls. “It doesn’t concern me, I just can’t believe someone is stupid enough to willingly subject themselves to torture.”

Roy lets out a bark of laughter for some reason that Ed doesn’t understand. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It's nothing,” Roy says. 

“It's not a joke. You could die out there, swimming like that.”

"Thank you for your concern, but I am quite a capable swimmer."

Ed makes a face. "Swimming," he says, a shiver wracking his body. "Don't get why you like it."

"You don't?"

Ed isn't about to own up to one of his most irrational fears to someone he's barely known for an hour.

"Not really."

"You live on an _island_."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I like getting in the water. It's dangerous."

Roy shakes his head slightly and announces with the utmost confidence: "Not if you know what you're doing.”

It’s Ed’s turn to laugh and he can’t help himself from snorting as he does. “You’re a weird guy, Mustang.”

Roy looks briefly bemused at the use of his surname, but chooses not to comment on it.

“Why does it amuse you?”

“Why wouldn’t it? People die all the time out at sea and here you are, acting like you're immortal.”

“I suppose I am,” Roy says. “But I’d be more concerned about an eleven-year-old living alone in a lighthouse than a fully-grown man who goes winter swimming.” He’s half-smiling, the left side of his mouth pulled up in a haughty expression, and his voice makes it clear he’s teasing him.

“I’ve lived here alone for a year, bastard, I’m managing just fine.”

“I’m sure you are.” Roy pulls his coat around himself and Ed can’t help but gaze in awe at the way the scales ripple seamlessly, ever so slightly changing color from a deep purple to a brilliant green.

“Where did you get this coat?" he asks again. "I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Roy's half-smile turns wooden. “It’s something of a keepsake. From an old friend.”

Ed lets out a low whistle. “Your friend gave this to you?”

“Yes, they insisted I have it,” Roy says, uncharacteristically quiet. 

Ed worries that he overstepped some unnamed boundary, but he hesitates to actually say something about it, lest he make his guest even more uncomfortable. When Roy struggles to keep his expression from becoming distraught, Ed decides to speak up.

“Is everything okay?”

The man looks at him with a tense smile. “I’m fine, Edward. Thank you.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Roy laughs weakly and it makes the tips of Ed’s ears burn.

“Is this your way of informing me I’m hideous?”

“What? No! That’s not what, I didn’t mean, I didn’t say that!” Ed splutters. He's so embarrassed he can feel his stomach turn and he worries for a moment that he might vomit. Roy laughs again, all prior discomfort gone, and Ed thinks his face has probably turned dark red at the sound. He hopes it hasn't.

(It has.)

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Roy strategically leans against his arm, his hand placed against his face. He knows exactly how he looks and he practically preens at the way Ed flushes. 

Ed covers his face with his hands and groans. “You’re so annoying.”

Roy chuckles and then pouts, feigning hurt. “I can’t believe you’d say such a cruel thing.”

“Don’t do that, it’s creepy,” Ed snaps in return.

Roy drops the pout and grins with boyish charm. The man doesn't look very old, but Ed's not sure. He asks.

“You should never ask a lady her age,” Roy deflects, which causes Ed to scowl.

“Are you always a tricky bastard or just with me?”

There's a quiet huff of laughter.

“I am _always_ a tricky bastard.”

“Joy.”

Roy holds his mug underneath his nose and breathes in quietly. He sips his tea with a smile and the way his lips turn up as he does captivates Ed. There are little things that Roy does that make him seem kind, even if superficially, he comes across as haughty and distant. Like the way Ed can tell Roy actually listens to him, rather than pretending he is like other adults do. Like the face he makes while he drinks tea, or the way his laugh is open and unburdened when he teases Ed, but he's never mean about it.

"You're actually pretty nice."

“I have no idea what you mean,” Roy responds, as if being "nice" is an insult. His face is the picture of innocence.

Ed glowers at him. "You know what I mean."

Roy tilts his head thoughtfully. "I wonder what sort of people you are interacting with if you think _I_ am nice." He says it light-heartedly, passing it off as a joke.

"Don't exactly get visitors out here," Ed says under his breath.

When he glances up, he realizes Roy overheard him. 

“Do you get lonely?” The question is innocent enough, but it’s a particularly sore subject for Ed, who’s honest to a fault and can’t stop his face from twisting into a grimace.

“I don’t,” Ed lies through his teeth. He’s still grimacing and Roy looks at him with a frown.

“You don’t have to lie, who would I even tell if you choose to confide in me?”

“I’m _not_ lying,” Ed says, his teeth and hands now clenched. The way Roy talks to him, without pity, without feeling sorry for him, makes him feel exposed. Makes him feel his age. Makes him feel like the kid he should be.

Roy raises an eyebrow. “You most certainly are, although I can understand why you would.”

Ed realizes he’s a child lying futilely to an adult who knows the truth. He stares at his hands.

"You don't have to say anything you don't want to, Edward. I'm simply letting you know that if you'd like to talk about, I'm willing to listen."

Ed has never used the word "lonely", because he thinks it would be selfish of him to do so. Saying he's lonely would worry Al, and Granny, and Winry, and they would either try to relocate him to Resembool, which he can't stand the idea of, or they'll try to cater to his inconsiderate whims. He thinks they might know anyway, but he refuses to admit it and they seem happy not to address it either. But here's Roy, someone who barely knows him, who wants to talk about it. Who wants to listen to him.

“I promised Mom before she died,” he says in a small voice. “That I’d take care of everything.”

The look on Roy’s face softens. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way.”

“It’s our home. This is our lighthouse, our island, our life,” Ed says. He pulls on a loose thread in his sweater, which unravels to create a small hole.

“Can you still say that when there’s no ‘we’ to speak of?” 

“I-,” Ed cuts himself off, because he can hear how badly his voice shakes and he doesn’t want to show weakness. “I can. I can still, I _do_ still say that.” He forces himself not to blink as he looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep from crying. He lets out one trembling breath.

Roy doesn’t see weakness when he sees Ed doing his best to hold back tears: he sees a child who was forced to grow up too quickly. He recognizes the strength required to live alone at Ed's age and can tell that he is desperately clinging to the small amount of normalcy he has left, while simultaneously trying not to be a burden to others. It’s easy to treat the eleven-year-old as if he were older, because he carries himself with a confidence that some adults never find in their lifetimes. He speaks like he’s older too.

But it's heart-wrenching to see someone so young existing as if life has nothing more to offer him.

“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

Ed closes his eyes, a single tear streaming down the side of his face and into his ear. He shakes his head, pressing his hands over his eyes. “Stop,” he gasps. “Don’t.”

“Edward, look at me.” 

He shakes his head.

“Please. Look at me.”

Ed slowly looks at Roy’s blurry outline with watery eyes. He can’t make out the man’s expression. 

“There’s more to life than this.”

Ed’s fully crying now, covering his ears with his hands. He’s shaking his head again. Roy says something, but Ed can't hear him. He leans over and pries Ed’s hands away.

“I have to go, Edward, I’m sorry, I really am, but I have to go now.”

Ed struggles against the man’s hold on him, sobbing. Roy lets him go and he backs away from the table, away from this conversation, away from Roy.

The clock chimes in the next room, indicating the half-hour.

He speaks one last time and it divulges everything Ed’s tried to hide since the funeral.

“Why are you punishing yourself?”

He can’t, won’t, talk about this; he will _never_ talk about this.

“Out, get, get, get out, get out of here! Leave! Go!” he screams.

He’s sitting against the kitchen wall, his face pressed to his knees, his hands covering his ears.

“Get out, get out, get out,” he says again, shaking. “Get out.”

Ed doesn’t see Roy leave. 

He doesn’t see the last, long look Roy gives him before slipping out into the frigid night air.

He sits there even after he’s calmed down, long after Roy has disappeared. He sits until the clock in the living room strikes one.

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o) hope you liked it!


	6. six.

Four days after he meets Roy, Ed makes a rare journey to the mainland and seeks him out.

And here’s what he learns: Roy Mustang doesn’t exist. He’s not listed in any directories, local or national, and Ed asks around, but no one has heard of anyone matching his description, particularly the combination of dark hair and eyes. It may be that Ed hasn't described Roy very well (he fumbles to describe the man because on the tip of his tongue sits the word "beautiful") and he certainly lacks the artistic talent necessary to create a picture of him. But ultimately, none of those things matter: many of the villagers laugh in his face when he explains who he's looking for and ask if he's ever heard of the boy who cried wolf.

“No man in his right mind would go swimming during Amestrian winter, let alone in the ocean,” one fisherman declares.

“He’s still young,” another one hisses. “Let him have his daydreams.”

Nothing infuriates Ed more than being treated like he's _only_ a child; he may be young, but he's not stupid. The reactions from the townsfolk very quickly puts an end to Ed’s search and he tries to put the image of the peculiar man out of his mind. He's fairly successful in doing so.

But every day that passes, every time Ed lives through the same monotonous routine on different days, his mind wanders back to that dreaded question. He can hear Roy's voice, even if he forbids himself from picturing his face.

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

Around a year after Roy had disappeared, Ed can't take it anymore. It's as if the sound of his heartbeat has been replaced by those wretched words. _Why. Are. You. Punishing. Yourself._ In an attempt to appease the part of his brain that won't let this die, he recreates the conditions in which he had first encountered the man. Armed with tea, book, and blanket, Ed sits among the rocks and watches the sun set every day for two weeks. By the time the two weeks are over, Ed knows the night sky like the back of his hand.

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

It becomes a habit. Almost every evening, if the weather permits, Ed sits with a thermos of tea, his tattered book of constellations, and a thick blanket on the western shore of his island. He would sit and think and wait.

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

He’s not. 

He lives on the island because he wants to. 

He takes care of the lighthouse because he wants to. 

He lives his life the way he wants to.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting two chapters because they're on the shorter side!


	7. seven.

Ed is fifteen and it’s been four years since Roy Mustang had walked into and out of his life without a trace. Four years of constant rumination, of lies to his loved ones, and of questions he would never get answered.

Al, of course, notices how Ed is constantly distracted by seemingly nothing, as do Granny and Winry. They ask and wheedle him about his change in demeanor, but he’s dismissive and defensive. There's no way he can tell them about his chance meeting with what must have been an apparition. How could he?

For the fourth time that week, Ed sits down on the beach, thermos, book, and blanket in hand, and settles in against the brisk air. He can practically taste the salt of the unbridled ocean waves and he watches as the last of the sun’s light disappears over the horizon.

He patiently awaits the arrival of his closest friends, the stars and the moon that greet him each night, that never betray him. (That never leave him.)

An hour after the sunset, Ed’s almost finished with his tea and he rereads his book, as has become tradition.

There’s the rumble of thunder in the distance. 

“Shit,” Ed says. If it rains or if lightning strikes, he’ll have to take cover back in the lighthouse.

He keeps an eye on the sky, but noticing a lack of storm clouds, makes himself comfortable again. It’s just him, the open sea, and the heavens above.

_Splash._

There's a flash of lightning in the distance, at the same time that something disturbs the waters. In the darkness, it would be impossible to discern, but the coincidental lightning strike allows Ed to make out the outline of something distinctly not human.

The shape crawls ashore, wheezing and coughing, spitting out water as it drags itself onto the boulders nearby.

Ed can't breathe, can't make himself move, as he watches, horrified yet fascinated. The creature lets out a subdued cry of pain as another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and Ed's ready to faint.

He’s too old to believe in fairy tales.

But there’s no other way to describe the creature in front of him. 

It’s a mermaid.

There’s a _fucking mermaid_ on his little, no-name, nothing-to-see island.

Fully out of the water and in the brief seconds of light, Ed can see that the shape has a human-like torso and arms attached to a lengthy tail.

In the book Mom used to read to them when Ed and Al were younger, it had said that mermaids are alluring half-human, half-fish beings that live deep in the ocean. In all of her stories, the mermaids have long blond hair that falls in waves and pale skin and delicate tails decorated with shimmering bright-colored scales and they have heavenly singing voices that they use to drown men out at sea.

("Do they really look like that?" a four-year-old Ed asks.

"Some might," Mom says absent-mindedly. "But most don't."

"Beauty," she adds some time later, "Has no true depiction.")

This mermaid doesn’t look like that at all, but is alluring in its own right. Its coloring is dark, allowing it to blend in with the current blackness of the ocean and its graceful lines belie the strength evident in its musculature. The fingers that scrabble against the rock as the mermaid drags itself ashore are webbed and end in sharp talons. It looks powerful, capable of creating hurricanes with a flap of its tail.

And the tail. Its tail is the most captivating thing Ed has ever laid eyes on. It’s thick with muscle and covered entirely with black scales that shift from purple to blue to green with every move the mermaid makes; its entire body, from head to fin, is coated with the same scales. 

Mom was right; if someone asked him to describe beautiful, this would not be it. The mermaid's appearance fluctuates between beauty and beast and Ed can't take his eyes off of it regardless. If this creature were to make an appearance in his dreams, it would turn quickly into a nightmare. 

And for that, it’s even more beautiful than Ed could have imagined as a child.

It’s still breathing heavily, lying on its stomach against the rocks, its head pressed against its arms which are folded in front of it. Every so often it shivers, its body shaking uncontrollably. 

Its dark hair is cropped short, but Ed can’t see its face.

The mermaid hasn’t taken notice of his presence, because it’s too preoccupied as it gasps for air, twitches, and if Ed isn’t mistaken, weeps.

And then suddenly, with an audible, sickening crack of bones, it’s transforming in front of his very eyes.

It muffles a scream, unearthly and vulnerable, as it writhes, its body twisting into unnatural angles as the scales along its tail beginning to fall off, one by one. They float down to the water and disappear underneath the waves.

Ed’s frozen at the grisly sight, wincing with each restrained sob that the mermaid lets out. He wants to help the creature, to alleviate this torture somehow, but what assistance is he capable of offering? He's only human. 

As the scales disappear completely, the mermaid no longer sports its intricate tail, but instead, a pair of long, bare legs.

_What the fuck…_

The smothered cries of the mermaid continue, grow worse in fact, as the scales on its torso and arms and neck ripple in unison. Something about them looks off now, no longer as cohesive as before, as if somehow, some way, the scales are now ill-fitting.

There is one last, gut-wrenching scream and the mermaid sags, now on its human-looking hands and knees, panting with exertion. It’s completely naked, barring the “ill-fitting” scales which now form a coat that is all-too familiar.

_Wait._

“Fuck,” the mermaid says.

_That voice._

“Fucking shit, fuck. Fuck! You’re never going to let this go, are you, you asshole?” the mermaid yells at someone who isn’t there. It slams a fist against the boulder.

_Is that…_

“Mustang…?”

The mermaid stills and then turns, slowly, deliberately, to see him standing on the shore.

His face blanches.

“Edward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!!!!


	8. eight.

Ed and Roy are seated at the kitchen table, exactly as they had been four years prior, with Roy wearing his oddly scaled coat like a second skin and borrowed trousers underneath. He hadn't bothered with a shirt this time. His arms are wrapped around himself in a rare expression of vulnerability.

The same two ceramic mugs from four years ago stand on the table, filled with tea that has long since turned cold.

Roy won’t look in Ed’s direction at all, his entire body angled away from him and towards the door. On the contrary, Ed can’t stop looking at Roy, at his coat made of scales, at the pearl necklace still looped around his neck. He stares absentmindedly at the three gold hoops in Roy’s left earlobe.

“So, uh, it’s, I guess, it’s nice to see you again?” Ed cringes at the sound of his own voice, but he hasn’t exactly taken lessons on how to approach mythical creatures without freaking them out. The situation is doubly strange since he’s met Roy twice now: first as a strange man, now as an impossible myth come to life. 

Roy blinks.

“I mean, I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination, since that’s what everyone on the mainland told me. Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know but I, uh, I, well, I was like, looking for you, after that night. You know?” Ed rambles to fill the stilted silence.

“Edward, will you please stop staring at me,” Roy says sullenly. It’s the first thing he’s said to him since he had uttered his name earlier on the beach.

“Oh, sure. Yeah, sure, sorry.” He trains his eyes on his cup and takes a quick sip.

Roy shifts in his seat. “It is nice to see you again,” he says softly after a while, still not making eye-contact. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks uncomfortable. “Without all of the profanity, I suppose.”

“And without me finding out you’re a mermaid,” Ed says bluntly. Roy winces.

“Right. Right, exactly how much did you, ah, happen to see?” Roy’s hand tightens around his side.

“Um, from when, I saw from when you, uh, when you came onto land.”

Roy groans softly and covers his eyes with his hand. “Shit.”

“Language,” Ed says jokingly. Roy stares at him with a look of disbelief.

And then he’s laughing, full-bellied and verging on hysterical, and Ed cracks a weak smile. The tension between them melts away and Roy slumps down in his chair, while Ed relaxes enough to lean back in his.

“This is unbelievable. I didn’t think you’d be there when I, well, when I was changing.”

“I’ll say.”

“Aren’t you going to ask about-,” Roy gestures to himself, “-all this?”

Ed bites his lip. He wants to know, he really does. 

"Where'd you get the pants?" he blurts out.

Roy's brow wrinkles in confusion. "What?"

"Last time," Ed says. "Last time you came out of the water wearing pants."

The man flushes and Ed savours the way his skin turns pink across his cheeks and nose. When Ed had shaken himself from his stupor earlier on the beach, he had awkwardly offered his blanket to the naked man while blankly keeping his eyes trained on the man's face (and absolutely nowhere else).

"I had preemptively borrowed a pair from someone's laundry line."

"It's not borrowing if you don't have permission."

"I'm afraid I don't have many options, Edward. But is this really what you wanted to know?"

"Of course," Ed retorts. "Weird fucking stranger shows up on my island, claiming to have gone swimming in nothing but a pair of trousers. He disappears like a ghost. Four years later, weird fucking stranger ends up being a mermaid who is fully naked upon turning human."

Roy covers his chest with both arms. "To think you were leering at me..."

Now Ed's blushing furiously, his entire face turning crimson. "I wasn't, it's not like, I didn't, I wasn't leering!"

The man's grin is mischievous and Ed wants to say he hates the way Roy so easily flusters him, but the feeling isn't hatred at all. There's now a comfortable silence hanging between the two, which Ed didn't know could happen (he's never experienced silence that wasn't tense or awkward). 

“I won’t ask,” he says decidedly, referring back to his previous question. “But if you tell me, I’ll listen.”

“You’re not going to ask,” he repeats, dubious. “You really don’t want to know."

Ed nods.

"I can’t believe this. You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”

He manages the nerve to smirk at this time. “Easily flustered, aren’t you, Mustang?”

Roy stares at him like he doesn’t know who he is and what he’s done with the real Edward Elric.

“Really, don’t worry about it. After all, who would I even tell if you choose to confide in me?”

It’s a reversal of the roles from their previous meeting. 

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Ed shrugs. “It’s nothing. Honestly, just glad I got some answers. It was like you had vanished in thin air, back then.”

Roy goes quiet, twiddling his thumbs and shifting in his seat again. Ed leaves him to stew over whatever is going on in his head and gets up to fix them some more tea and maybe some food - he’s starving. He hums softly as he sets the kettle to boil and rustles through the cupboards for something to snack on. As he opens a box of crackers and begins his search for cheese, Roy starts to talk from behind him.

“I owe you an apology, Edward. I shouldn’t have interfered with your life last time. I hadn’t planned to, but like I said then, I had heard about you, and when you, well, when you called out to me that night, you looked so young and you looked so lonely. And I hadn’t talked to anyone either in a very long time and thought if anything, you, as a child, wouldn’t be capable of, of doing anything… bad. To me.”

Ed stops what he’s doing when Roy finishes his confession. He turns to face the man, bracing his hands behind him on the kitchen counter.

“What do you mean by ‘anything bad’?” he asks belligerently.

“What do you think I mean,” Roy says flatly.

Ed thinks of cages and scientists and tests that basically amount to torture. He thinks of the hundreds of science books he has stacked along the stairs of the lighthouse, that depict exactly how certain advancements were achieved through experimentation. He clenches his left hand into a fist. “Have you had problems with that before?”

Roy doesn’t answer, but he won’t look him in the eye either.

“Fuck, Mustang.” Ed reminds himself to breathe.

“I can take care of myself, Edward. I _am_ an adult.” Roy rolls his eyes.

“I know. That doesn’t stop it from being fucking miserable to hear about.”

“Language,” Roy says, a small smile on his lips.

Ed laughs loudly, his head thrown back. He finishes putting slices of cheese on top of the crackers and the kettle shrieks. He sets the plate down in the middle of the table and pours water from the kettle into his mug. “You think that works on me? I heard you, you know, when you were swearing like your life depended on it.”

Roy’s face crumbles. “You heard that.”

_Oh, shit._

“Yeah,” Ed says hesitantly. He doesn’t want to ruin Roy’s mood, doesn’t want to scare him off.

They’re not so different. They’re both alone and have no one else to confide in. Maybe they do have loved ones, but they bear their own crosses in secret. If Roy’s composed, carefully crafted personality from their initial meeting is any indication, he is not easily trusting or willingly vulnerable. And Ed’s cut from the same cloth, even if he uses anger and arrogance to hide his weaknesses rather than weaponizing polite distance.

Roy’s expression darkens considerably and it’s the first time Ed has seen him look genuinely furious.

“Sorry.” Ed can’t help the waver in his voice. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“It’s fine.” The dark look disappears instantly. Roy sighs. “I think it might be easier to just tell you some things at this point, even if you won’t ask.”

“You don’t have to,” Ed says reflexively. 

“I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

And then Roy explains what Ed had seen. 

Roy is a mermaid. (He crinkles his nose in distaste when he says the word and clarifies that he’s not a fan of the word.) He’ll be a mermaid for an unforeseen amount of time and has been a mermaid for countless years already.

“Wasn’t always one,” Roy mentions offhandedly. “But that’s a different story.”

Once every four years comes a day that doesn’t exist during the other three years: the day of blue moon. (Ed hadn’t even realized it; his sense of time blurred weeks and months together, especially since he lived in isolation.) And on that day alone, Roy is able to shed his skin and become human for a few hours.

“Only when the sun is gone and only until midnight,” he admits. “Not very long, but it’s the only time I can ever breathe above water.”

“Does it… hurt?”

Ed recalls the inhuman scream and the tortured sobs that had escaped Roy’s mouth when he had transformed.

The man in question wets his lips as he considers how to respond. “It does. It hurts, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Ed takes this opportunity to go and check the clock in the living room. It’s already almost eleven.

“You’ll have to go soon, won’t you.” It’s rhetorical; he already knows the answer.

Roy nods his head. “I will.”

“Can-,” Ed stops nervously, but wills himself to continue. “Can I watch you go?”

The man rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “That. That might not be the best idea.”

He deflates. “Oh. Okay.”

“I appreciate your company and that you’ve taken everything in stride and haven’t reported my existence to the local authorities and whatnot. But I didn’t ever mean to trespass into your life to this extent and I most definitely did not intend for you to see something even I find grotesque. It’s better if you don’t,” Roy pauses, “If you don’t see what happens when I return.”

“I get it, Mustang. Don’t worry.”

Roy has drunk all the tea in his mug and in the ensuing silence, reaches for a cracker. He eats it with relish and smiles a little. “Haven’t had human food in a long time.”

Ed pushes the plate towards him. “Eat more.”

“Thank you, again, for your hospitality.” He eats another cracker. “I’m sorry for the way I left last time.”

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

It’s hard to breathe. 

“Edward?”

Nothing seems real.

“Edward!”

He blinks. He’s on the ground and Roy is leaning over him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. Ed can just make out Roy’s pupils against his almost black irises.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows and Roy helps ease him into a sitting position. They both sit there on the floor and Roy rubs a hand on Ed’s back.

“Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, did you know that?”

“What are you -”

“I would hear your voice in my head, asking that god-damn question over and over and over again.”

Ed faces him.

“And it’s like you unleashed all my inner demons. Every fucking day, I’d be living my life the same way I always had, but something was different. Something was wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Edward.”

“Save it, Mustang. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, I’m telling you because I think you deserve to know.” Ed takes a deep breath as Roy waits, his expression exposing his worry.

"I'm afraid of the ocean," Ed admits, looking away from the man. "I think you probably guessed when I told you I don't like to swim, but it's a lot worse than that."

Roy looks concerned as he stops rubbing circles in the small of Ed's back. "How much worse?"

Ed wets his lips. "Enough that I try not to leave the island. I mean, Al and Winry and Granny can tell I don't exactly love riding the ferry, but I'll do it when I absolutely have to, so I don't think they really know how scared I am. And I've never told them or made it seem like there was a reason I wouldn't leave the island, just pretended I was being stubborn and shit. And I don't think I can ever let them know, because it's so fucking irrational and then they'd make me leave."

"Why would you stay here then? You should move to Resembool, you could even move farther inland, you've already taken the ferry before," Roy starts, but Ed is quick to interrupt him.

“I'mpunishing myself. I'm punishing myself, because I deserve to be punished, but no one else is going to do it, so I will.”

“Edward. Don’t -”

“I deserve it. I know I do. Did you know my mom died when I was younger?”

Roys shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“She got sick and no one knew why, she should have been fine, but she wasn’t.” Ed picks at his nails. “But I knew why.”

Roy gives him space to breathe and to talk at his own pace.

“She used to have this old-fashioned key that she always wore around her neck. It was important to her, she said it was the key to her heart, and she said she’d tell me why when I got older, but I was little and obnoxious so I asked her to give it to me. And she did, because Mom was like that. Cared so much about us."

Ed remembers the suffocating feeling of being submerged in water, the salt burning his nostrils and sliding down his throat as he struggles to breathe. 

"Long story short, I lost the key a couple of days after she gave it to me.”

Ed buries his face in his hands. 

“She started to get sick right after. She said everything was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal, but I just knew it had something to do with that key. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with her, said she was in perfect health, but she just got worse and worse. And then she died.”

He thinks about that old skeleton key, the heavy weight of it in his then small hand. He doesn't notice the way Roy stills, a thoughtful look in his eye.

“Me staying here, too afraid to leave but watching everyone leave me one way or another…” He exhales shakily. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Silence. 

“You should go.” Ed gets up, brushes his pants off, and begins cleaning up.

He places everything in the sink and pours out the rest of the water in the kettle. He grabs a rag and some soap and begins washing the dishes.

He doesn’t want to see Roy leave.

He’s almost finished washing out the kettle when a hand on his shoulder spins him around.

“What -”

Roy wraps his arms around the boy and squeezes. Ed is startled and he stands there, arms stiff, unsure of what to do. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was, said that I was a mermaid. And I wasn’t lying when I said there was more to life than this. So please believe me when I say you deserve nothing more or less than the chance to be happy.”

His eyes are burning. _Damn it, I_ refuse _to cry. I will not cry._

“It will not come easily and it will not come without effort, but there is so much happiness waiting for you if you go in search of it.”

Roy breaks the hug, holding Ed at arms-length. The boy in front of him is hiding his face in his hands, but from the way his shoulders tremble, Roy knows he’s crying.

“It seems I manage to leave you in tears each time we meet.”

“Shut the fuck up, bastard.” The words come out muffled, but Roy laughs at the response and tugs on the end of Ed’s braid.

“Goodbye, Edward. And as always, I thank you.”

Ed can’t bear to watch Roy leave, not right now, not like this. He hiccups. “Will I see you again?”

Roy smiles, but doesn’t answer.

“Close your eyes and count to 1,000 for me.”

Ed takes one long, good look at Roy’s face and commits it to memory. The three piercings in the left lobe, the many others scattered along the shell of his right ear. The way his lashes are short and the color of his eyes that don’t shine because they’re almost too dark to reflect light. The unforgivable way his mouth smiles and smirks and teases. The way he drinks tea and eats crackers like nothing in life could be better.

And lastly, he imagines the sound of Roy’s laugh when he’s genuinely amused.

He closes his eyes.


	9. nine.

The morning after Roy’s departure, Ed takes a good, long look at his life and tries to think of how he could search for his own happiness. It takes him ten days of non-stop reflection to realize the truth: there will never be anything in his life that makes him look forward to living as the few hours he has spent in Roy’s company.

He loves Al. He cherishes Granny and Winry.

But they have their own paths to walk, none of which appeal to Ed and his desire for independence. School is pointless, because Ed already reads everything he wants to know in books and newspapers. Jobs are restricting, because he’s not the type to heed orders or stick to a schedule. Moving away is out of the question, because the lighthouse is both his prison and his home - he can’t leave it behind.

And Roy? Roy’s existence in Ed’s life is pure serendipity.

(He thinks he’ll never be so lucky again.)

The man understands what it’s like to be alone, to be lonely, even if he won’t admit it to Ed. Roy treats him like an equal, but also gives him the opportunity to be a kid without thinking he’s incapable due to his age. 

He knows he (literally and figuratively) can’t walk by Roy’s side.

He doesn’t care.

Ed remains on the island and the vicious cycle starts anew: he torments himself by refusing to leave and stays in wait of the blue moon. He knows he has almost four years left to wait, but he can’t stop himself from watching the sun set each evening and naming the stars until he’s so tired blinking hurts.

He occupies himself for the four years after Roy’s second disappearance as he always has: sweeping the stairs, washing the windows and the lighthouse’s lantern, and double checking that all of the machinery is in working condition. He starts to read an excessive amount of books on mythology, focusing on mermaids, in addition to his usual scientific journals and fiction. He also begins looking up new recipes to cook and learns to bake, definitely not because he wants to have more food to offer Roy the next time he sees him. (He’s found he’s particularly good at baking carrot and pound cake.)

Al still sends his letters, less frequently than before, but they remain incredibly detailed and funny and they become the highlight of Ed’s entire week when they arrive. Winry comes by at random times throughout the year and Ed goes into town at least twice: to celebrate Christmas at the Rockbell house (at the threat of wrench-to-the-head by Winry) and to place flowers on Mom’s grave.

When Al turns sixteen, he is given early admittance to the university in Amestris’ capital city. He returns home for three days at the end of the summer, not to the lighthouse, but to Granny and Winry’s house. The four of them, Al, Granny, Winry, and Ed, celebrate.

“Congratulations!” Winry cheers.

“You’ve worked hard,” Granny adds.

“Knew you had it in you, little brother,” Ed says with a wide grin.

Al ducks his head. “It’s nothing,” he says modestly. Ed punches him on the arm for that.

They indulge in too much food, including an enormous apple pie that Ed had baked, and laugh and exchange stories: Al, of his friends and classes at boarding school and Winry, of the customers she deals with each week. Everything feels lighthearted and warm, in a way that things had not since Mom had died.

Ed ruffles Al’s hair. That night, the two brothers sleep in the same bedroom for the first time in seven years.

“Brother,” Al whispers in the darkness, from the only bed in the room.

“What?” Ed says back, from his makeshift bed on the floor.

“Are you doing alright?”

“Where’s this coming from? I’m fine.”

Al turns in the bed, getting up on his elbows and peering down at Ed.

“You didn’t say a lot during dinner.”

Ed’s eyes are closed, but he can practically feel Al’s suspicious glare on his face.

“Not much to talk about, Al. I’m just doing what I’ve always done, you know? Watching the lighthouse, reading, you know, regular stuff.”

_Befriending a mermaid,_ he doesn’t say. He counts the seconds as he waits for Al to respond.

“You’d tell me if something happened, right?”

_Roy._

“Of course,” Ed lies.

The next day they visit Mom, with fresh flowers and a slice of pie.

Three days fly by and soon, Al packs up his belongings once more and bids Granny, Winry, and Ed goodbye as he heads off for his first semester of college.

Granny and Winry get back to work in their machine shop and Ed returns to self-imposed exile in the lighthouse. The Rockbells beg him to stay, to finally come live with them in Resembool, but Ed refuses, polite yet firm.

“I’m fine, I’m always fine,” Ed says, smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks.

They let him leave only after he’s accepted their gifts of food.

When Ed is eighteen, he is given his first kiss.

Winry presses her lips to his in a moment of calm and he’s caught off guard and he doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t reciprocate either. When she pulls away from him and sees his dumbfounded expression, her own eyes widen and she stammers an apology before attempting to run away. Unfortunately for her, there aren’t many places to hide on an island with only one building.

When Ed catches up to her, grabbing her elbow to keep her from leaving, she’s devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” Ed says, squeezing her arm. “I’m sorry, Win.”

She shakes her head, biting her lips. “Don’t, Ed. Don’t apologize.”

“You deserve better,” Ed tries, but she wrenches her arm from his hand.

“It’s not about deserving,” she says angrily, eyes beginning to water, “so don’t make excuses for your feelings. That’s worse than rejection.” Winry sits down on the grass, her head hanging down. Ed sits next to her, fumbling over the right words to say and upon finding none, chooses to stay silent.

Eventually, she lays down, with her arm across her face, covering her eyes (and her tears).

Ed follows her lead and lays down, staring at the cloudless sky above them. He feels for her hand and holds it in his.

“You know I care a lot about you, right?” he says, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“I know,” she responds quietly, squeezing back. After some time, she speaks again. “Will things be awkward now?”

“The way things are don’t have to change unless you want them to,” he says. “I can’t return your feelings, Win, but I’ll always love you the way I do right now, the way I always have. You’ll always be family.”

Winry hiccups. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, Ed.”

“I’m sorry too.”

It takes a while for Winry to come back to the island, but when she does, Ed’s waiting for her with a small smile and some muffins.

“Hey, Win.”

“Hey, Ed. Long time, no see, huh?” 

She grins, and just like that, things are back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting the next chapter as well, since this is filler :o)


	10. ten.

Four years of reading, baking, cleaning, fixing shit, and existing blur together, but Ed doesn’t mind.

He’s nineteen and it’s finally, _finally_ , the night of the blue moon. 

He wakes up at four in the morning in a cold sweat.

His heartbeat won’t go back to normal.

By noon, Ed can’t take it anymore and leaves the lighthouse to go wait on the western shore, the sun at its peak in the cloudless sky. He frowns at it unhappily, knowing he has a long time to go until Roy will make an appearance, but he’s too eager to meet the man to go back inside.

He sits on top of his blanket, eating a sandwich more out of boredom than necessity, as he watches the rocks in anticipation of Roy’s arrival. It’s worse than watching paint dry or counting blades of grass, activities he and Al had attempted when they were younger at the suggestion of their amused mother.

The sun lingers in the sky as if it has a personal vendetta against Ed. Or maybe it seems that way because he glances at it every few minutes that crawl by, willing it to set faster.

By the time the last of the sun’s rays have completely disappeared, Ed is practically vibrating with impatience.

_This is killing me_ , he thinks. He’s been waiting for over seven hours now.

Another two hours idle by and Ed distracts himself by reciting constellations, until he hears a disturbance in the water.

Roy drags himself out of the water and onto the beach, instead of pulling himself onto the rocks like last time. He stops only when he’s pulled himself mostly out of the water, the tide lapping over the tip of his tail. Ed is on his feet, running to meet him.

Roy, with his multi-chromatic scales and wet tousled hair, looks otherworldly. He's lying face down on the sand, the line of his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

Ed had been farther away when he had watched Roy’s horrific transformation four years ago, but now, close enough to reach out and touch him, the same feelings of helplessness bubble up to the surface as Ed realizes there is nothing he can do to ease Roy’s suffering.

Hesitantly, he kneels at Roy’s side, the man collapsed on the ground, convulsing.

“Mustang,” Ed says uneasily. “It’s me.”

At the sound of Ed’s voice, Roy groans. He lifts a scaled arm and makes feeble attempts to push Edward away.

“Don’t,” he chokes out, “don’t look.”

Ed’s never been one to take orders.

Roy shifts, covering his mouth in attempt to hold back his strangled sobs. It’s the same as last time, even though Roy hadn’t known he had an audience then. He won’t let himself cry, he can’t stop himself from concealing his pain. Just like Ed.

In their past two meetings, the two instances of physical contact had been initiated by Roy in Ed’s moments of vulnerability. This time, Ed is the one to reach out, to grab Roy’s freezing fingers, to comfort the man as he starts to weep between tortured breaths.

“You don’t have to hold back,” Ed says. “You can let it out.”

He tries to pull his hand away from Ed’s, but Ed holds fast.

“You don’t have to hide, Roy.”

His breath catches and he turns his head in search of Ed’s face. Bloody tears have left crimson tracks on his face and Ed wants to grieve at the sight of them, but doesn’t. 

“You,” Roy manages to say between gasps and suppressed cries. He shuts his eyes and tears stream out. “Never. You, ne-ver. C-call me Roy.”

They stare at one another, Roy with dazed eyes, panting with exertion as he continues to weep tears of blood. But Roy doesn’t try to muffle his own agonized cries again.

He shudders once more as the scales begin to fall off and Ed nearly retches at the sound of Roy's bones rearranging themselves.

Roy _screams_. 

It’s agonizing to watch, especially when Ed is incapable of doing little more than letting Roy hold his hand so tightly his claws dig into Ed’s skin, drawing blood. Ed is torn, wants to close his eyes and cover his ears at the sound, but he won’t let himself. He can’t let himself.

So he sits there by Roy’s side, holding his hand, murmuring in a soothing voice to the distressed man, as the scales detach themselves from Roy’s tail, falling like autumn leaves, slowly revealing his legs. He winces every time Roy sobs, wishing he could do more. He runs his free hand through Roy's hair.

Ed’s already bracing himself for the transformation of Roy’s coat.

When the scales covering his arms and back and neck ripple in unison, Roy squeezes Ed’s hand so hard he thinks he’s broken bones and the sound that gurgles out of his throat is inhuman. Roy clenches his jaw, bloody tears seeping out from his closed eyes onto the sand in front of him. 

And then it’s over, the drawn out anguish clear on Roy’s face slipping into exhaustion as he heaves on his hands and knees, Ed’s hand still in his left one. He coughs up salt water as Ed gingerly places his other hand on the man’s back.

“You, you don’t, listen, do you,” Roy pants, laughing tiredly.

“Never,” Ed confirms, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Or,” Roy says, trying to catch his breath, “were, were you just, just trying to, to, to ogle, me, again?”

He laughs breathlessly and turns his head to the side to give Ed a shaky, but amused smirk.

If Roy's face weren’t stained with thin streaks of blood marking where his tears had slid down, Ed would probably have the energy to feel embarrassed.

“Shut up, bastard,” he says, lightly smacking Roy with his free hand. He doesn't say anything about the fact his other hand is still clasped in Roy's, their fingers tangled together.

“No Roy this time?” he asks, his breathing finally evening out.

Ed does blush this time.

“Shut _up_ , Mustang!”

He laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> transformation was shorter since i already covered it the first time and i tired myself out trying to describe the same thing twice without repeating myself too much l o l 
> 
> thank y'all for reading! :o)


	11. eleven.

Ed and Roy, as is tradition, sit at the wooden table once Roy has pulled on his borrowed clothes. He’s wearing a fitted collared shirt (mostly unbuttoned) and a pair of tight trousers.

(Ed had picked them out for him three years ago, thinking they’d suit the man, but he hadn’t said that to him when he had handed them over.)

This time, the table bears more than tea in cracked mugs. Ed had baked specifically for this night and he offers Roy a slice of his latest creation.

“It’s banana bread,” Ed says, placing a slice in front of him. He cuts himself a slice as well.

“Thank you.”

He puts a piece in his mouth, chews, and then stops.

“Where did you get this?”

Roy’s expression is unreadable.

“I made it.”

“Oh.”

 _What does that mean? Is it that bad?_ Ed takes a bite of his own slice, but can’t find anything wrong with it. _Are my taste buds just completely fucked?_

“This is the nicest thing I’ve had to eat in a long time,” Roy finally says. 

Now it’s Ed’s turn: “Oh.”

Things are quiet for a while, at least until Roy has finished eating (while Ed watches discreetly from the corner of his eye).

“I didn’t think you’d be waiting at the shore after the last time,” Roy says eventually, wryly, giving Ed a disapproving look. He places his fork neatly on top of his empty plate. “Children shouldn’t see such things.”

Ed snorts. The nerve of this man. “I’m not a child, bastard, I’m nineteen.”

He is, admittedly, still shorter than Roy (and shorter than he’d like to be in general), but his face is less rounded now, his jaw more angular. His voice is a bit deeper and he’s also started putting on muscle, as well as growing out his hair. He thinks he comes up to Roy’s shoulders now, whereas previously he only came up to the man’s waist.

“A child,” Roy insists. “An infant.”

“Ugh, don’t get on my case just ‘cause you’re old, grandpa.”

Roy smiles, but it’s one of those polite smiles where his eyes are void of emotion; Ed’s not really sure why. Before he can ask, Roy changes the subject.

“I see you haven’t taken my advice from last time either,” he says, gesturing to the lighthouse.

Ed chews on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s not like I didn’t think about it,” Ed says. “I know where I’d be happy.”

“Pray tell, Edward, where would that be?”

 _With you._

“Right here,” Ed says. “I want to live my life the way I want and that’s what I’m doing here.”

Roy’s eyes trail over Ed’s face.

“You could just as easily live life the way you would like on the mainland,” Roy points out. “Not surrounded by water.”

Ed shrugs. “The water’s not so bad.”

Roy raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Ed says. He swallows.

Roy hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps his eyes trained on Ed’s face, the corner of his mouth turned slightly down. Ed stares back.

“You know, Edward, it’s quite easy to tell when you’re lying.”

His entire face twists as he scowls. “‘M not lying.”

“Are we really going to do this song and dance?”

The scowl deepens. “ _Yes._ ”

“Have it your way, then.” Roy gets up from the table and extends an arm towards the door. “After you.”

There’s an overwhelming roar in Ed’s ears, like the sound of the ocean in the middle of a storm. Roy, the lighthouse, physical reality separates itself from him. 

“Fine,” he snarls, shoving his chair back, arms crossed defiantly. “Let’s go.”

If Roy is going to call his bluff, he’s going to fake it ‘til he makes it.

(Everything seems far away. Are his feet actually touching the ground? Is he breathing?)

Roy is an asshole gentleman and holds the door open for Ed, forcing him outside first.

 _It’s fine. This is fine. This is_ fine.

They’re standing back on the beach and it’s not an ideal place to swim, considering the number of boulders that appear and disappear as the waves ebb and flow over them.

Roy has an almost cruel glint in his eye as he turns to face Ed. His face gives nothing else away.

“Get in.”

Ed doesn’t know how to swim.

“What are you waiting for?”

He’s so stubborn it might kill him.

“I’m not,” he says, yanking his sweater off and over his head. He pulls off his jeans next. “It’s just cold.”

Roy says nothing.

The tide laps against the very tips of Ed’s toes.

“I’m waiting,” Roy says now.

“Yeah, yeah, bastard, I’m going.”

Ed starts walking directly into the oncoming waves, eventually wading as the water rises to his knees, and then his waist, and then his chest.

His shallow breaths sound far away and he can’t feel the water as it pushes against him.

_Keep going._

“Edward.”

His feet are no longer touching sand.

_Don’t stop._

“Edward! Stop!”

Only his head and the tops of his shoulders bob above the water.

_I’m scared._

“EDWARD, DON’T -”

The next wave consumes him.

And then Ed’s gone.

A week or two after Mom had given him her key (after almost a year of pestering), Ed and Al are playing on the beach, as they often do. They decide to see who can swim out farthest, playing a game of chicken.

Everything is fine; Ed is yelling, Al is laughing, the sun is shining.

Until a riptide grabs hold of Ed and drags him under.

He holds his breath as long as possible, trying desperately to escape the pull of the ocean current to no avail. His lungs burn and his brain demands he open his mouth and swallow air.

But then he’s taking on water like a sinking ship, his vision blurring at the edges, turning dark.

_Mom. Al._

In the second before Ed blacks out, a dark shape approaches him.

Ed coughs, once, twice, and then chokes on the taste of salt as water comes .

_What, what happened?_

He’s completely soaked, his hair plastered to his skin, and he’s lying on his back, in the sand.

 _When I lost Mom’s_ _key. Was that…?_

When he opens his eyes, he can make out Roy’s worried face hovering inches from his.

“How could you be so foolish?” 

Ed coughs again, still feeling the burn of salt water in his throat. “You said get in.”

If he hadn’t been moments from potential death, he’s fairly certain Roy would have no qualms about smacking some sense into him. For now, Roy glares daggers at him. “Clearly, I didn’t _mean_ for you to do it.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Ed mocks between ragged breaths, “you don’t know me.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Roy snarls, losing his composure, “ _you have a death wish_.”

He pushes himself up and stalks off, hands curled into fists, as Ed closes his eyes again. He’s exhausted, but he’s guessing that’s typical for almost drowning. After giving himself enough time to return to a relatively normal state, Ed gets up and approaches Roy, who is staring out at the ocean, completely stiff.

“Edward, you have a _life_ you could be living. Every time I’ve met you, I’ve told you that. Why won’t you let yourself live?” Roy’s voice is quiet and cold, his anger radiating off of him.

“I _am_ living, Mustang. This is my life. This is my home. What more do you want from me?”

Roy laughs in disbelief. “This? This isn’t living.”

“Then what is it?”

“This will lead to disappointment.” The anger on Roy’s face gives way to fear. “It could kill you.”

Ed swallows thickly, his tongue resting uncomfortably in his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When I first saw you, I worried. You were alone, you were younger, you were struggling. I didn’t think I’d see you again. But I did, and the next time I saw you, I thought I got through to you. I thought you would leave, that you would try to _live_ , instead of _exist._ And this time?” Roy stares at Ed with eyes stricken with grief. “This time, I’m afraid of what I know.”

“Know what?” 

_He doesn’t know. He can’t know. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t_ say _anything!_

“You’re terrible at lying, did you realize?”

“Know what, Mustang? Tell me. Tell me what you think you know so I can tell you _you’re wrong_.”

Roy rubs his face with both hands.

"The clothes. The food. The preparation."

Ed wants to vomit.

“Leave the lighthouse, Edward. Leave the island.” He exhales. “I won’t be back.”

“What?” Ed croaks. “Why…?” He reaches out, but Roy backs away, avoiding his touch.

“You know why.”

Ed shakes his head. “It’s my life. I’m here, because I want to be.”

“If you say so, Edward. I want you to be happy. Sincerely, I do. But I won’t come back next time, whether you’re here or not. I promise you.”

He snaps.

“Then why have you been lingering here for years? It was you, wasn’t it! That day, when I almost drowned. You’ve been hanging around since then, what’s different now!”

Roy staggers back. “I. I - I haven’t. I didn’t -”

“Al went to get Mom because he was too little to pull me out of from the current. But he told me when they both got to the beach, I was already lying there, passed out. Something saved me. Some _one_ saved me.”

Roy tries to shift back into his cold demeanor, but Ed knows what his real face looks like underneath. Vulnerable. Scared. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not. I’m not wrong. What are you so afraid of that you’re trying to hide? Why are you _still_ trying to hide?”

“I’m not hiding, Edward. This is for your own good.” Roy closes his eyes. “You deserve better.”

 _You deserve better._ It’s the same words he had said to Winry when he had been unable to return her feelings. 

“It’s not about deserving,” Ed says, thinking of Winry's anger and _understanding_ it so completely, he feels awful all over again. He scowls. “You don’t get to choose for me.”

“Don’t I get to choose for _me_?” Roy asks.

“Then choose, _Roy._ ”

Ed walks towards him, until Roy has nowhere else to go, cornered by the rocks and the water behind him. They're both already up to his ankles in the ocean. Ed grabs the collar of Roy’s shirt and slowly, tentatively, pulls him down, so he can kiss that smart mouth, that wicked smile. 

“Choose,” Ed says, their noses brushing. There’s no way Roy doesn’t understand his intentions.

“This is inappropriate -”

“Then say no.”

Ed watches as Roy’s expression transforms into one of anguish.

“Or forgive me.”

He doesn’t say no.

Ed dares to kiss Roy on the cheek. When he’s pressed against the other man like this, he can feel the way Roy stiffens at his transgression. 

“Choose, Roy.”

Unhurried, because he wants to give the other man enough time to decide, Ed bridges the gap and then his eager, uncertain lips are pressed against Roy’s. Their noses bump against each other as Ed clumsily tries to deepen the kiss.

He shuts his eyes, because his heart might just burst if he can see Roy’s face from this close up.

_Fuck, this was a mistake, maybe I shouldn’t’ve -_

His thoughts are interrupted by the gentle hand that cups his face, the thumb stroking his cheek as Roy leans into him. Roy tilts Ed’s head up and turns his own head so that their mouths fit together, their profiles joined like a puzzle completed at long last.

Ed isn’t intentionally holding his breath, but Roy’s soft, willing mouth against his is melting his brain into nothing and he thinks his heart might have forgotten how to do its job. His hands are no longer grasping the front of Roy’s clothes and creep up instead to wrap around his neck, pulling the man closer. 

Roy’s hand travels down to tangle in Ed’s hair and rest against the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His other hand finds the small of Ed’s back.

Roy smells like salt and smoke and home.

Ed never wants this moment to end.

“Edward,” Roy breathes when they break apart, his forehead pressed to Ed’s, his eyes closed.

“Roy,” Ed says back, barely a whisper. 

Ed opens his eyes and wishes he could take a photograph of Roy as he is in this instance, shirt disheveled from Ed’s heavy-handed grip, face relaxed and open. His lips are a deeper shade of pink.

But then his expression changes, his face contorts and he looks almost as pained as when he sheds his scales.

“I’m sorry,” he says and he truly sounds it. He pulls away from Ed like he’s been burned.

“What?” Ed heard him perfectly, but he doesn’t understand the sudden change of heart.

“This wasn’t a good idea.”

“Oh.”

“I should have said no.”

“But you didn’t,” Ed says.

“I’m sorry,” Roy says again. He pulls his coat tighter around him. “I’m sorry, Edward.”

Ed tries to grab him again, but this time, Roy stops him. He wraps his hands around Ed’s wrists.

“Please forget this, Edward.”

“How can you -”

“Please.”

Ed is terrified of what Roy is trying to erase.

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I can’t, I have to go, I have to, I can’t do that, I can’t.”

Roy lets go of Ed and attempts to escape into the ocean, but this time, Ed catches his wrists.

“Promise me.”

“I can’t -”

“Promise or I won’t let you leave.” The desperation in his own voice is pathetic, but it’s necessary. He can't let him leave things like this.

Roy tugs against his grip, struggles to break free before surrendering, gazing at him miserably.

“I promise, Edward. I promise.”

Ed releases him and he stumbles backwards a few steps. He’s knee-deep in water.

“Close your eyes,” Roy says softly.

Ed does.

“I'm sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! :o)
> 
> if you’re wondering why the kiss scene is not very descriptive, it’s because i don’t understand how kissing works (sorry, i tried) and this was the easiest way for me to include it lol


	12. twelve.

Four years pass by in an instant, as if Ed had taken every trivial thing he'd done in that time and condensed it into a single sentence in the story of his life.

And the only thing he can remember about it is the constant anxiety that plagues him. Everything reminds him of Roy. The ocean. The lighthouse. The kitchen table. Tea. Baking. Breathing. Clothes. FUCK! 

Every little thing makes him think of Roy and his soft mouth and his tormented expression and his scaled coat. His promise. His apology.

_He promised. He promised. He promised._

_He'll come back. He'll come back. He'll come back._

Ed feels like he's lived fifty years by the time he turns twenty-three.

But it's here, endlessly, finally, here.

The blue moon arrives and Ed is on edge all day. 

Unfortunately, Winry chooses that day to visit.

“What’s got you all jumpy,” she says, frowning at his restless leg. “And will you please stop that!”

Ed sticks his tongue out her. “It’s nothing.”

She smacks her hand down on his knee, forcing him to sit still.

They eat lunch together and Winry updates him on the machine shop and Granny’s health and the current town gossip about the baker’s wife. When all’s said and done, Winry gives him a hug and departs, waving to him from the ferry until he can’t see her anymore.

As soon as she’s gone, Ed grabs a change of clothes for Roy and prepares some earl grey in a thermos. He grabs his constellation book, which is falling apart, and wraps himself into his worn blanket.

He’s sitting near the ocean two hours before the sun will set. He strategically places the change of clothes on one of the boulders, where it will stay dry, but ready for a certain person, should he need them (and he will).

His eyes continuously scan the horizon, watching the repetitive crashing of waves against the rocks and occasionally feeling the spray of salt water against his skin.

“Come on,” Ed whispers impatiently. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The sun gets lower and lower in the sky, eventually dipping into the ocean.

“Please.”

The sun disappears altogether and Ed’s heart is in his throat.

“ _Please._ ”

An hour passes. Ed’s tea is untouched, as is his book. He can feel the cold night air down to his bones.

It’s eleven o'clock and Ed is alone on the beach, shivering under his blanket.

“Orion. Ursa Major. Canis Major. Scorpious. Ursa Minor. Cygnus.” Ed mumbles the names of constellations as he continues to wait for Roy. “Cassiopeia. Lyra. Leo. Delphinus. Crux.”

Ed waits on the shores until the sun begins to rise behind him. His eyes water as the first rays of sunlight tinge the sky pink.

Tears spill freely down his cheeks.

“You promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! (we're getting there, i promise)


	13. (un/lucky) thirteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, WARNING: there is a very small part of this story (literally like a sentence) towards the end when Pinako talks about Ed's mother where a person can understand it to be sexual assault, but I tried to write it in a way that it isn't the main idea
> 
> please decide for yourself if you'd like to read it, if not i will summarize in the author's note the important information about Ed's mom

Ed has had what Winry calls “depression” for the last month. 

She doesn’t know what happened, just that one day she had visited and he had been full of restless energy, and the next time she arrives on the island, everything is in a state of complete disarray. The lighthouse looks even worse for wear than before and she can’t find Ed hard at work as she normally would.

“Ed?”

There’s no response.

“Ed!”

Had something happened to him, when he was all alone, and he’d been unable to call for help? Winry panics, rushing from room to room while calling out to her childhood friend.

“ED!”

She finally finds him, sitting at the very top of the lighthouse, curled in on himself. Ed’s always been on the short side, but he looks impossibly small, hunched over like that. His face rests atop his knees and his hands are clasped in front of his legs.

“Ed, you really freaked me out! Why didn’t you say anything!” she says angrily, stomping over to him. She falters when he doesn’t respond. She shakes him with one hand. “Ed?”

He doesn’t react. He won’t speak. She can barely hear him breathe.

When she crouches down to face him at eye-level, she becomes afraid. Ed’s eyes remind her of the empty stare of the dead fish at the markets.

“Ed?”

After an hour of unsuccessful prodding, Winry makes an executive decision and piggybacks Ed down to the dock, in order to take him back to Resembool. She explains what she’s doing as she does it, but he doesn’t protest, not even when she says she’ll force him to move out of the lighthouse for good.

That’s when she really starts to fear for the worst.

The ferry has always been slow, but it’s unbearable when Winry is sitting there with an arm wrapped around a catatonic Ed.

“Hurry,” she says to the captain. “Please.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” he responds.

When they arrive in Resembool, the captain anchors the ferry and carries Ed like he’s an infant over to the Rockbell house. Granny is startled to see him, but immediately prepares a bed for him. Winry thanks the captain profusely as he leaves and then she gets to work, explaining what she had found back on the island.

“Do you think he’s been like this for a while? I haven’t seen him in two months. He could have died.” Winry can’t stop herself from fretting over Ed’s condition. He’s lost a fair amount of weight, but he’s not dead and for that alone, Winry is grateful. 

“We’ll have to tell Al,” Granny says that evening. Ed wouldn’t eat anything, but he did drink water when the cup was lifted to his lips. “We can call him tomorrow.”

The phone call does not go well.

“I’ll come home,” he says immediately. Ed is twenty-three, Al is twenty-two; he’s two years into his graduate degree in chemistry and hasn’t had time to return to Resembool in over three years.

Winry bites her lip. “Can you take time off of school?”

“I’ll be there no matter what,” Al reassures her.

She knows Ed would kill her for wanting Al to come home. He’s never asked his brother for anything, waiting patiently instead for the times when Al visited of his own accord. But Ed’s not in a position to complain and Winry has no qualms about asking Al to return.

Three days later, Ed is in much the same state as he was before, but Al finally, finally arrives. 

“Brother!” He rushes to Ed’s side and scans him for injury. “How long has he been like this?” Al asks Granny.

“We don’t know,” she answers. “Winry brought him home three days ago.”

Al looks at Winry and she tears up. “He was already like this when I found him. I haven’t seen him in at least two months. I don’t -,” her voice breaks. “I don’t know how long he’s been like this before I arrived.”

Granny, Winry, and Al take turns watching over Ed, who doesn’t move unless someone forces him to.

“What could have happened? He’s always taken such good care of himself,” Granny says one night at dinner. It’s been two weeks since Ed has been moved in out of necessity. Al is doing all his research remotely and sending it in through post; his professors have been accommodating, because Al is consistently the top of his class, respectful, and serious about academics.

“He never tells me much in his letters though,” Al admits quietly. “I haven’t really known what he’s been up to in the last couple years. I just assumed he was doing what he always does.”

“Me too,” Winry confesses. “But he was definitely weird that last time I saw him.”

“Weird how?” Al asks.

“Weird like he was waiting for something. He wouldn’t say anything about it, so I let it go. Do you think it has something to do with that?”

“Maybe? Has he ever been like that before?”

“Not that I know of.”

Granny takes off her glasses and polishes them. “Unless Ed says something to us himself, we’ll never know. That boy has kept secrets since the day Trisha died.”

The dinner atmosphere becomes despondent as they individually reflect on their interactions with Ed over the last decade. Communication with him had certainly dwindled over the years, but he had never mentioned it in any way, and they were lulled into a false sense of security about their relationships with him.

“There is no use in crying over spilt milk,” Granny says at the end of dinner. She clears the dining table. “We must do what we can now to make up for what has already been done.”

A full month passes before Ed seems like his old self at all. 

Al’s sitting at his bedside, working on his research. He’s leaned over so far that his face is almost pressed into the paper as he writes.

“What are _you_ doing here?” 

He tears himself away from the paper.

Ed’s sitting up in bed, the first time he’s done so of his own volition, and he’s glaring at Al.

“Brother!” Al abandons his materials and throws himself on top of Ed.

“What the hell, Al? Why am I _here_ ? Why are _you_ here?” Ed returns his brother’s unexpected hug, but he’s disoriented. He remembers being at the lighthouse and now, suddenly, he’s at the Rockbell house?

“You’ve been here for a month, Brother,” Al says into the crook of his neck.

“What? No I haven’t, I was at home.”

“Winry went to visit you a month ago, but you were completely unresponsive, so she brought you back with her.” Al pulls away from the embrace and gives Ed a stern look. “You had all of us so worried! What happened?”

 _What happened, what happened._ Ed rakes through his most recent memories: looking after the lighthouse, maintenance on his inventions, baking, reading, the day of blue moon.

_Fuck._

He recalls everything all at once. Roy never showed up that night three months ago and Ed had spiraled hard. In the days that followed, nothing mattered. Food was tasteless, sleep unnecessary. Why should he clean when life was meaningless?

_Shit. Shit, fucking shit. You are one god-damn selfish bastard._

“I’m so sorry, Al. You should be in school! How long have you been here?”

Al stares at his brother in disbelief. “Brother, do you really think that’s what’s important right now? You were like a _corpse_ for _a month,_ maybe even longer!” He’s yelling at Ed, who can’t look him in the eye.

“Al, what’s wrong, I heard you yelling.” The door opens to reveal Winry, her hair wrapped up in a bandana. She spots Ed and slams the door fully open. “Granny!” she shouts. She’s on top of him in seconds, holding back tears.

“What is it?” Granny walks in. Upon seeing Ed, she smiles in relief. “Finally awake, Ed?” She also pulls him into a hug after Winry scrambles off of him.

“What happened, Ed! You scared us,” Winry says, her hands on her hips.

He rubs his eyes. “Nothing happened, Win.”

She scowls at him and lifts a hand as if to smack him on the head. He flinches reflexively. “Do you expect us to believe that. One day I see you and you can’t sit still, the next day I see you, I can’t get a reaction out of you!”

Ed winces. _Right. Winry was on the island that day._

“It’s nothing. I swear. Probably just overworked myself.”

He swings his legs over the edge and makes to stand up. 

Al crosses his arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Nowhere,” Ed says instantly. All of them glare at him. “What?”

“You’re doing it _again_ ,” Winry says.

“Doing what?” Ed asks, cranky. He just wants to stretch his legs.

“Keeping secrets,” Al answers.

“I’m not!” Ed protests.

“You are,” Granny says. “We just don’t understand why.”

“I’m not keeping secrets,” Ed says after a while. “I’m fine.”

Winry grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him slightly. “Ed, that’s what you always say. What happened to you? How did you get like this?”

He deflects her questions. “I’m sorry for making you worry. It was selfish of me.” Ed stands on unsteady legs. “I’ll get out of your hair soon.”

Al grabs his arm. “Where are you going?” he repeats.

“Where else? I’ve got to go home sometime.” 

Winry looks like she’s been slapped and Granny frowns. Al tightens his grip.

“This _is_ home, Brother.” He squeezes Ed’s arm. “You could’ve died out there. You can’t possibly believe we’re going to let you go back?”

Ed pulls on his arm; he does not like where this conversation is heading. “Yes? I live there? All of my belongings are there? My entire life is there?”

“Ed, your life _should be_ here. Why won’t you let us help you?” Winry is on the verge of tears again.

“I don’t need help, I’m fine!” he snaps. He tries to yank his arm away from Al, but to no avail.

“You’re not fine, Brother, you’re killing yourself!”

Ed stills. 

Al’s crying, but he continues talking through his tears. “I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself, but please, _please_ , don’t do this. Even if you won’t tell us why, even if you want to keep secrets. Don’t go back to the island. There's nothing there for you.”

“I have to go back,” Ed says. “Someone has to watch the lighthouse.”

“Fuck the lighthouse, Brother. Fuck. The. Lighthouse. Why are you punishing yourself?”

_Why are you punishing yourself?_

_WHY ARE YOU PUNISHING YOURSELF?_

It's like he's eleven, standing in the dim light of the lighthouse kitchen, and Roy is asking him that cursed question. He shatters.

“Because it’s my fault! It’s my fault that Mom died and it’s my fault that everyone leaves!” 

There’s a beat of silence. Al lets go of him in a state of shock and Ed collapses on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, Ed,” Winry says, the pity all too clear in her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

“It was,” Ed says. He recoils from her extended hand. “It is.”

“Why would you think that?” Granny says quietly.

“The key,” Ed mumbles. “I lost it.”

“The one she wore around her neck?” Al asks.

“She gave it to me after I begged her for it, but I dropped it that day I almost d-, drowned, and couldn’t find it.”

“Ed, it was a key,” Winry tries to console him.

“Brother, you’re being ridiculous. That has nothing to do with Mom’s illness.”

He ignores their attempts at comfort, because he knows the truth. He knows he's responsible.

“Have you been blaming yourself for her death all this time?”

Ed lifts his chin and Granny sighs, pressing a hand to her temples.

“Winry, Al, let me talk to Ed for a bit.” 

They reluctantly leave the room, shooting Ed looks over their shoulders as they head for the kitchen. They whisper as they go.

When Granny is certain that the door is firmly shut, she sits down on the bed next to Ed and takes his hand in hers.

“Did your mother ever read you those children’s stories when you were younger?”

His brow wrinkles in confusion, but he nods. The book in question sits on the mantle, where Ed and Al had left it following her funeral.

“Did she ever read you the ones about the mermaids?”

Ed nods again, this time hesitantly. Granny murmurs at his response.

“Ed, has anyone told you about half-maidens?”

He shakes his head.

“Half-maidens are old wives’ tales, very common in coastal villages and towns like Resembool. They’re basically the same as the mermaids in those fairy tales, except that they are more creature than human in the water. But the stories say that half-maidens can turn fully human when they shed their skin.”

 _Roy_. Ed whips his head to the side and stares at Granny, who’s looking right back at him. She misinterprets his astonishment as skepticism.

“Like I said, it’s an old wives’ tale. But people used to say that if you stole a half-maiden’s skin, you could force her to remain human and marry her and have children with her.”

Granny rubs his hand with her thumb. “Your mother never told you about your father, but I knew Hohenheim long before I met Trisha. He was an intelligent man and he was kinder than anyone, but he confessed he had done one absolutely terrible thing in his life.”

“He stole it,” Ed whispers. (He had always imagined that there was something about their mother that was more than human.)

“He stole your mother’s pelt,” Granny confirms.

“And the key?” he asks. He’s afraid to know the truth, but it will kill him if he doesn’t.

“It unlocked the box in which Hohenheim had hidden it.”

“So it really is my fault,” Ed says. He removes his hand from Granny’s.

“It isn’t.”

Ed looks up. “How can it not be?”

“Your mother hated living in Resembool, even though Hohenheim did his best to accommodate her.”

Ed’s not sure he wants to hear this, but he thinks he owes it to Mom.

“But she loved you and she loved Al,” Granny explains. “She loved you both so much. When Hohenheim had realized the error of his ways, he had handed her the key and the box and took off. No one’s heard from him since.”

She sighs. “She told me the truth shortly after, and I, of course, hadn’t believed her. She said it didn’t matter if I did or didn’t, just that I make her a promise. You were two at the time, and Al had just turned one. She told me that in a couple years, she wouldn’t be around anymore. She was vague about it, but insisted it was something that could not be changed. And she begged me to look after you boys when she was gone.”

Ed can already tell how this story ends.

“She had the key and she didn’t ever use it. Staying on land was killing her, but she chose to stay so that she could see you boys grow up.”

Granny pauses, looking at Ed intently now.

“When she suddenly got ill, I had another conversation with her. This time, I was a little more receptive to the impossible. ‘You see,' she had laughed. 'It’s like I said, Pinako.’ And I asked her why she didn’t open the box if it would save her and do you know what she said? ‘If I return to the ocean, I couldn’t come back even if I wanted to. What kind of mother would that make me?’”

Ed chokes on a sob. Granny pats his hand fondly.

“See? It’s not your fault, silly boy.”

He can’t see her with his tear-filled eyes.

"Your mother made her own choices."

He covers his mouth with a hand and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You can forgive yourself.”

He hiccups.

“Won’t you come home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for reading, as always :-)
> 
> half-maiden is literally not very imaginative, but i tried incorporating the word selkie and it just did not work in a way i liked, so unfortunately, i replaced it :-/
> 
> also, i realize "pelt" sounds wrong, given that i've described roy's coat as scaled, but selkies turn into seals, and i tried writing "he stole her skin" but that sounded super horrific which is why i still used "pelt" in that particular instance (forgive my word choice)
> 
> (about Ed's mom):  
> she's a selkie (aka half-maiden) and Hohenheim stole her pelt/skin, forcing her to stay on land (as is selkie lore), he locks her pelt away, but eventually gives her the key and runs off, this is the key ed loses, but it turned out she was going to die by choice anyway (she didn't need the key), granny tells ed so he won't feel guilty anymore


	14. fourteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay healthy, stay safe  
> black lives matter  
> trans lives matter

Ed is thirty-one years old and he’s lived on the mainland for the majority of the last eight years. 

He owns a small bookstore that doubles as a cafe and pays rent to Granny for the small bedroom he inhabits, even if she and Winry object every single time he does. His baked goods are the talk of the town and he wakes up at four every morning to prepare countless cookies and cakes to be sold that day.

He’s polite, never swears, regularly socializes with the townspeople, and has (in their words) “finally grown up”. Over the years, he has continued to bake, continued to read, and continued to live a life that would make his loved ones happy.

Ed never tells Al or Winry what Granny had said to change his mind that day. It’s a secret they both keep, but there’s one last secret that Ed keeps for himself.

He hasn’t seen Roy in almost twelve years, but on nights when the moon is full and the winter weather is mild, Ed will sit at the end of the pier and think of his half-maiden mother and her stolen pelt, and the images will overlap with scenes of Roy’s gruesome transformation and scaled coat.

The blue moon is tomorrow. 

Ed considers going back to the lighthouse for the first time since he’s moved out.

Granny and Winry don’t argue with him when he suggests it, which means they think it’s fine. If it’s fine with them, then Ed can go without causing any heartache and that’s all he’s ever trying to do anymore.

No one replaced him when he had left the lighthouse behind eight years ago, as communication systems had improved enough that the lighthouses on the mainland were capable of informing incoming ships of the jagged rocks awaiting them. As a result, the entire island has become derelict from abandonment. 

The lighthouse itself is streaked with weeping orange rust stains and appears to be a mottled grey underneath, while the plants are overgrown and uncared for. The island is littered with some of the things Ed was forced to leave behind, like his larger machines and his scrap metal and his leftover wood, and a thirty-one-year-old Ed stands amongst the junkyard his home has become and thinks it looks like a cemetery. It feels like one too.

He’s seated once again on the western side of the island. He’s holding a thermos of tea and he has somehow found his tattered copy of the book Al had gifted him years before. There’s a blanket draped over his shoulders. 

All for nostalgia’s sake.

He observes the changing colors of the sky in solitude.

Two hours after the sun sets, Ed finishes his tea and begins naming the constellations, like he had the night Roy hadn’t turned up. He stargazes for an undetermined length of time, lying flat on his back and tracing constellations with the tip of his finger, as if he were able to give them shape by doing so.

“Edward.”

Only one person ever calls him that. He knows that voice, hears it far too often in his dreams (and in his nightmares). Ed picks himself off the ground leisurely and turns towards the man he’s certain he’ll find there.

Roy is standing behind him, barefoot and bare-chested. He’s wearing his coat and yet another pair of stolen trousers, most likely one of his father’s, which Ed had all too happily left behind eight years prior.

“Mustang,” he says softly. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You look like an entirely different person altogether.”

It’s true; the man looks as he had the first time Ed met him twenty years earlier, while Ed can officially no longer be considered short, even if Roy is still a bit taller than him. His blond hair, which he had always kept long in his youth, has been cropped short for the last decade and his face is more angular and his shoulders more broad. He’s pierced his ears now, too.

“Happens when you’re human.”

“I see.”

Ed gestures towards the ground next to him. “Care to join me? I’m afraid I can’t invite you in, I don’t live here anymore.”

Roy’s eyebrows scrunch together at Ed’s formality but he takes a seat regardless. “I know. I was here last time.”

He hadn’t known that. “You were?”

“Yes.” His voice is quiet and Ed strains to hear him over the sounds of the ocean.

“I waited for you eight years ago,” he mentions.

“I thought you might have.”

“You didn’t show up.”

“I didn’t show up,” Roy agrees. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Ed thinks about the subsequent three months during which he had visibly fallen to pieces and then the following three and a half years where he had struggled to establish a new normal. “Oh.” He looks at Roy. “Why did you come last time then?”

Roy doesn’t answer, opting instead to trace small designs in the sand.

There had been many questions Ed had wanted to ask him, particularly after he had learned the truth behind his mother’s death. He’s unsure how to ask them now, though.

Ed trails his fingers along the edge of Roy’s coat. “Is this your pelt then?”

Roy’s knuckles turn completely white. “How do you know about that?”

“My mother was a half-maiden. But you knew that, didn’t you. After I told you about the key.” A bit quieter. “And how she died.”

Roy tries to find the right words. “I did,” he confesses. “I suspected.”

Ed retracts his hand from the coat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

Roy doesn't talk right away, but when he does, it's in a subdued voice.

“How much do you know?”

Ed outlines the individual scales with the tip of his finger. “I know what taking this coat would do to you.” 

Roy stiffens involuntarily.

“Relax, Mustang. I’d never do that to you.”

“I didn’t mean —”

“Yeah, I know. I’d feel the same way.” Ed lies back down on the beach, taking in the night sky once more. He chews on the inside of his cheek. “When I was fifteen, I said I wouldn’t ask, but I’d listen if you told me. You didn’t tell me everything then. Would you be willing to answer me now?”

“I would,” Roy says, “within reason.”

Ed closes his eyes. “First question then.”

“Alright.”

“You said you weren’t always a mermaid. A half-maiden... I suddenly realize I don’t know how to call you.”

“Half-maiden is fine.” The corners of Roy’s mouth turn up ever so slightly.

“Okay, half-maiden. How did you become one?”

It’s quiet for so long that Ed’s afraid if he cracks his eyes open, he’ll find himself on the beach alone and he'll fall apart all over again. He keeps his eyes shut and is rewarded minutes later, when Roy begins to explain, albeit hesitantly.

“I am guessing that someone who knew of your mother’s circumstances explained to you the truth about half-maidens. That we are not humans, but we are capable of adopting their shape for a time.”

Ed nods. “That’s pretty much what I was told.”

“That’s not quite true.” A pause. “I was human once,” Roy says, gazing out at the sea. 

“What?” Ed opens his eyes and turns to face the man beside him.

“I was human once,” Roy repeats. “A long time ago,” he adds. He props his arm up on one knee, the other leg stretched out in front of him. When Ed doesn’t respond, he continues. “I told you on our first meeting that an old friend gave me this coat and insisted I wear it. This coat is my burden, given to me by Truth.”

“Truth?” Ed asks faintly.

“Truth. Or God. Or the World. Perhaps the Universe. Whatever you’d like to call Them.”

“Are you allowed to call Them an asshole?” Ed’s thinking of the first time he had watched Roy crawl onto land, the way he had yelled at someone who hadn’t been there to listen.

“What more can They do to me?”

Ed doesn’t have an answer to that, not that Roy had meant for him to have one. He decides to ask a different question instead. “How did Truth decide to, to give you this?” Ed gestures towards the scales.

“They didn’t, I did.” Roy looks at him, still unsure of himself, before continuing. “When I was still human, I committed what They referred to as a ‘mortal sin’. And when you commit a trespass like mine, Truth seeks you out.”

He’s being intentionally vague on the details, but Ed lets Roy keep his secrets for the moment.

“You get a choice. Everyone does. Will you repent now or will you face judgment upon death? I chose repentance and here I am.”

“So this is a punishment.”

“Yes,” Roy says. 

Images of the time he’d watched Roy weep bloody tears flood his thoughts.

“Can’t you just not turn human for that one night?”

Roy shakes his head. “Believe me when I say that it is not worth the trouble.”

“What is it like for the rest of the time? When you’re not on land,” Ed asks, instead of asking for elaboration. 

Roy presses a hand absentmindedly against his throat. “I’d rather not answer this one.”

“Please, Mustang. Don’t hide from me again.”

They stare at one another.

Ed sees the ghosts in Roy’s eyes and the scars on his heart. 

When he was younger, he had been on the receiving end of their relationship: Roy had treated him as nothing less than equal, even at a young age, but had managed to show care and concern for him appropriate to his needs. Ed had eagerly taken anything Roy had offered him, unable to stop himself from taking advantage of the man’s compassion. It feels wrong to exploit Roy like this now, to beg him for answers Ed doesn’t think he deserves. But he can’t offer anything in return, when he doesn’t even know what Roy needs. This is a necessary evil.

Roy sees Ed at thirty-one superimposed over the image of Ed at eleven. 

Some things haven’t changed: the startling gold eyes, his stocky build, his painful honesty, his sense of morality. Other things are drastically different: the absence of swearing and attitude in his words, the lack of life in the ~~boy’s~~ man’s eyes, the way Roy can hardly get a reaction out of him like he used to. He’s worried, even more so than when Ed was eleven and lived alone. 

Roy sighs, defeated. “It’s like enduring an eternity in a matter of seconds. And everything is dark when you’re deep enough in the water.”

Ed doesn’t press, because Roy never has. But he’s sure there’s more to it than that, so he waits. He’s waited twelve years, what’s a few minutes more?

“And I am incapable of breathing underwater, regardless of form,” Roy says eventually. “With the scales on, I am unable to breathe air either.”

Ed furrows his eyebrows. “How is that possible?”

“It means,” Roy starts and then stops. His breathing turns shallow and he tries his best to control it. “It means that every moment I am more fish than human, I am drowning. In every sense of the word.” He avoids looking in Ed’s direction, but can see from the corner of his eye that Ed is staring at him in horror. 

Roy rubs his neck subconsciously. “You asked why I don’t avoid the pain of turning human.” He laughs bitterly and Ed hates it for being nothing like the familiar sound he’s hungered for. “The few hours I am able to become human again are the only reprieve I have. I suspect Truth severely limits the amount of time I have on land as another aspect of this torture.”

“What if someone takes your coat?”

Roy is taken aback.

“I’d die?” Roy answers. “Not right away, but every breath I take is on stolen time.”

“I know that. But if it’s as simple as someone withholding your pelt to keep you from suffering, why wouldn’t you want someone to do it?”

_Why would you rather live like this than die?_

“Would it be wrong of me to say I’m only human?” Roy says it with a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am afraid of what may come after,” he says. “I’ve been told by many that they fear dying because of the uncertainty of an afterlife. I’m not much different. I don’t know what will happen to me after I die, if I try to avoid punishment I have already consented to.”

A deep breath.

“I’m scared, Edward. I’m so terrified that there is a hell waiting for me that I would rather endure all of this than attempt to escape it.”

“But you would avoid suffering, wouldn’t you? Mom never seemed like she was in pain when she was on land.”

“You misunderstand, Edward.” Roy’s voice is soft, gentle. “Truth makes a deal with every condemned soul before they become a half-maiden. An equivalent exchange, They call it. You commit the sin, you serve the time. If I allow anyone, willingly or otherwise, to take these scales from me, I may avoid this particular punishment for an indeterminate number of years, but even I do not know how Truth will respond to such a development once I die.”

Ed swallows. “So Mom… ?”

Roy looks at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t have an answer to that.”

Ed’s completely still for a while as he tries to process everything he’s learned. It wounds him twice; the first time, in relation to Roy’s suffering. The second, in relation to his mother’s.

It’s after some time that Ed’s hand happens to brush against Roy’s and the man instantly recoils as if burned.

Ed watches him from the corner of his eye. “Are you afraid of me now?”

“I’m not afraid,” Roy says instantly. 

“Then why are you acting like that?”

Roy shifts his weight uneasily on the sand.

“Spit it out, Mustang.”

“I didn’t want to leave you with any… potential misunderstandings.”

“You mean you’re worried I’ll try to kiss you again.”

Roy winces slightly. “That… this… this will never work out the way you want it to.”

Ed repeats those words over and over in his head before he figures out what he’d like to say.

“Mom used to tell me a fairy tale, from that book of hers, about this doomed couple,” he starts out, testing the words as he says them. He considers stopping, but Roy looks at him expectantly. “Right, there’s this doomed couple, and I forget the details, but they’re separated by their families so that they can’t see one another. But a god takes pity on them and once a year, they command a bunch of birds to create a bridge across the sky, so that the couple gets to meet.”

“The god I know isn’t one for pity,” Roy says dryly.

“Then I’ll make the bridge myself,” Ed says quietly.

They both pause to observe the other person.

Roy speaks in a small voice. “I think birds aren’t going to be of much use in this situation.”

“I’ll use something else then,” Ed continues, a smile pulling at his lips. “Seaweed, maybe. Or fish. How about flying fish?”

Roy laughs and the sound makes Ed think of home, of when he had one.

“I appreciate the thought…”

“But?”

“But you don’t know enough about me to be making such promises.”

“I think I know you well enough.”

Roy closes his eyes. “Not everything.”

“Not everything,” Ed agrees, feeling the urge to correct that. “Last question then. You don’t have to answer this one.”

“What is it?”

“What did you do?”

Roy is a statue in the moonlight, but his eyes slant to the side and Ed knows Roy can see him staring. He faces forward, faces the ocean, the one constant in his life, and lets Roy decide if he wants to open up or not.

Ed goes through his memorized list of constellations as he waits. It’s only when he’s two-thirds of the way through that he gets worried.

_Maybe I’m asking too much._

Before he can withdraw his question, Roy starts to talk.

“Have you ever heard of the Ishval War?” His voice trembles, just barely.

_That’s not what I was expecting._

“Who hasn’t?”

Roy could be made of stone. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say glass? Ed thinks the wrong word could actually break the man into impossible little pieces and he’d disappear into the sand forever.

“What,” Roy continues, hesitantly, “what about the Hero of Ishval?”

_Oh._

Ed stares at Roy’s profile, while Roy determinedly avoids his gaze.

“No,” Ed says at last, voicing his disbelief. 

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he says quietly in return.

“The Ishval War was _two centuries ago_.” That’s not the main issue with what Roy has just admitted to him, but it’s the easiest to bring up.

“Half-maidens are ageless. It’s more about the duration of our punishment —”

“The Hero of Ishval was pivotal in the _massacre_ of the Ishvalans,” Ed interrupts. It’s getting harder to talk.

“I am well aware.”

Ed grew up thinking the Hero of Ishval was a myth, as most Amestrians did. 

In history books, the Hero, never named or described in detail, had been awarded such a title by the government for their part in slaughtering Ishvalans during the war. Their main tactic? Trapping people within their city walls and setting everything and everyone on fire.

“Why? You’re, this can’t be true, you’re lying. You’re _lying._ You’re too kind, you’re too good to kill anyone.”

Most Amestrians thought “the Hero” was simply government propaganda encouraging the narrative that portrayed the complete annihilation of the Ishvalans in a positive light. After all, what kind of psychopath _burns other people alive_?

Roy still won’t look at him.

“I’m not good, Edward. I haven’t been good in a long time.”

Ed can’t see Roy right now, not really, because all he can imagine is what Roy might have looked like condemning an entire nation of people to their deaths. He distantly remembers the smell of smoke when he kissed the man years ago.

Neither of them speak for the next half hour. Ed, because he can’t figure out how the Hero of Ishval and Roy are in any way the same person. Roy, because he’s never had to have this conversation before and he doesn’t know how to proceed.

Eventually, time runs out and Roy’s words are decided for him. 

“I’m glad I had the chance to tell you the truth,” he says, thinking of how he returned to the island four years ago, of the guilt that festered inside of him for what felt like an eternity. “But this really is the last time we’ll meet. I have to go.” A sense of deja vu lingers over him as he stands up and brushes off the seat of his pants. His demeanor betrays his discomfort, even if his expression does not.

“You can’t.” Ed stares at him dismayed. “You can’t just say something like ‘I’m the fucking Hero of Ishval’ and then fuck off for another four years.” The swear words slip back into his vocabulary like they belong there, Roy notes, and he feels a warm fondness spread through his chest at Ed’s angry scowl and sharp words. “I won’t let you.”

 _Just like the Edward of old,_ he thinks.

Roy already knows what he needs to say, what he needs to do to let Ed move on with his life as he’s been doing for the last eight years. He’d been prepared to do it then and nothing could stop him now.

His smile is sharp and sardonic, the glint in his eyes unsettling. “Are you telling me you can look past it? That you can look at a man like me and be at peace with the fact that I have personally been responsible for the deaths of hundreds? Thousands?”

Ed flinches.

His voice turns soft, dangerously so – a mimicry of the gentle tone he’d used in Ed’s memories. “Do you know how flesh smells when it’s burned? Can —” 

“Stop,” Ed says.

“— you imagine the sound of screams when people are dying, slowly, torturously? Have —”

“Stop!”

“— you ever had someone beg you for mercy and —”

“STOP!”

“— you ignore them?”

“STOP IT!” Ed roars.

Roy sees the punch coming, could easily dodge it if he’d liked, but he wants Ed’s fist to connect, to taste the iron of his blood where it splits his lip after.

_It’s better this way._

“I knew you couldn’t stomach it. You _can’t_ stomach it.” He shoves Ed away from him and stands, towering over him. “You deserved answers and I’ve given them to you. But this is where everything comes to an end.”

Ed scrambles to his feet, attempting to tackle Roy to the ground. “Why the fuck did you bother?! Why the _fuck_ are you even _here_ , when you didn’t give a shit and show up eight years ago! _Why would you tell me who you are, just to walk away_ again?”

They wrestle against the sand, the roar of the ocean waves growing louder as Roy attempts to leave once more.

“WHY, GOD DAMN IT!” Ed’s yelling in Roy’s face, kneeling over the other man, his hands twisted into the sharp scales of Roy’s coat. “WHY DID YOU COME BACK!”

“Because I felt guilty,” Roy snarls, pulling Ed’s hands away from him. “I felt guilty that I’d deluded a child into thinking I could be his friend. I felt guilty that I let this _child_ get attached. I felt _guilty_ that I’d interfered with a _child_ that deserved to have a _normal_ life.”

“I’M NOT A FUCKING KID ANYMORE, ROY,” Ed shouts. He slams his fist against the ground, to the left of Roy’s ear. “MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE WASN’T NORMAL EVEN BEFORE YOU CAME ALONG.”

“YOU’RE STILL A CHILD, _ED_ , AND I WATCHED YOU THROW AWAY YOUR CHANCE AT LIFE!” Roy flips them over, no longer holding back. He presses a knee into Ed’s stomach, forcing him to stay down. “YOU WERE THROWING YOUR LIFE AWAY FOR A MURDERER AND I COULDN’T STAND TO WATCH ANOTHER FUCKING PERSON DIE BECAUSE OF ME!”

They’re both panting from exertion, but Ed won’t stop struggling to overpower Roy.

“It’s my life,” Ed snaps, “and you don’t get to make decisions for me.”

“It hardly matters,” Roy says sharply. “You’ll never see me again.”

For a moment, Roy thinks he’s accomplished what he set out to do, imagines that Ed has accepted the few truths Roy had left to share and will be able to move on. Because Ed tenses, but stops fighting against his hold and stares up at him with an unreadable expression.

He’s wrong, of course.

Roy relaxes minutely and it is a fatal mistake. 

Ed uses the opportunity to shove Roy off of him and grip the collar of his coat. In one fluid motion, he yanks the scales off of Roy’s back and Roy is left feeling completely exposed on the beach, entirely at Ed’s mercy.

“Edward,” Roy says, stunned, “you can’t do this.”

He can see the way the other man struggles with his own morality, struggles to justify the threat behind his actions. It’s clear he can’t stomach the idea of withholding Roy’s coat in the same way his own father had done to his mother.

“I have to leave,” Roy repeats, cautiously approaching the other man. “I need it back.”

Ed shakes his head, his grip on the scales tightening. “You can’t keep doing this _to me_ , Mustang. You keep trying to leave, to get me to leave, but you’re sending mixed signals even when I’ve already made what I want, what I’ve decided, clear.” He looks Roy in the eye. “Why did you come back? Why did you give me hope?”

He sounds utterly broken, so much so that Roy falters, his fingers twitching. His window of opportunity is decreasing rapidly and there’s a rising pressure in the back of his throat. “I won’t come back, Edward. I promise. I, this. This was the last time, only, only because I thought you deserved the truth. All of it. But this?” He gestures between the two of them. “This can’t ever happen.”

“You kissed me back,” Ed says.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you’d known the truth then,” Roy says. “I kept it from you, I deceived you. I never told you who I was and that was unfair of me. But I was selfish and I couldn’t.” He extends his hand. “Please, give it back. I, I need to leave.”

Ed glares at Roy’s hand.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?” Roy thinks Ed is referring to the kiss, but he can’t bring himself to say the truth. He feigns innocence.

“Do you regret what you’ve done? Do you ever think about the people you’ve killed?”

Roy’s surprise is only visible for a second and then his composure cracks. “There isn’t a day I don’t think about them.” His shoulders sag and his voice turns hoarse. “I’ve been sorry for being a weaker man, for not doing the right thing and disobeying orders when I should have. I’m not sorry about being punished, because even this will never be enough to make amends for what has, for what _I_ have done to the Ishvalans.”

There’s something unreadable in Ed’s expression, but then he’s pressing the coat back into Roy’s hands and pulling him into a kiss. Roy barely has time to process anything before Ed’s out of reach.

“Go,” he says quietly. 

Roy slips into the scales and takes two steps away before looking back. 

“For what it’s worth,” Roy says in a soft voice, “I _am_ sorry.”

And then Roy is gone, a sleek shape disappearing beneath the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and for your patience!!!
> 
> sorry i dropped the ball on this for a while, i've actually had most of this sitting in a word document for like three months because i couldn't quite make everything exactly as i wanted it to be and this is where i got with it and figured there's no use in delaying any longer :-)
> 
> the story about the bridge made of birds is a (heavily summarized version of a) korean folk tale and was what i originally thought of when i picked the "we meet on the backs of flying fish" part of the title
> 
> i do have the ending in mind and am working on writing it out so that i like it and it isn't depressing because i am planning for a happy ending lol
> 
> until then feel free to come find me on [tumblr](https://www.13tongues.tumblr.com)!


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